Creamsicle Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 11 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) (2 page)

Friday
morning, Missy seriously considered sending a staff member to deliver the cupcakes
for Ivana, but for “security reasons” the diva had specified in the original
contract that the owner was responsible for delivering the cupcakes personally.
Never one to shrink from responsibility or cower in the face of adversity, she
loaded up the cupcakes, determined to show grace and kindness even while
dealing with a decidedly difficult movie star.

Recognizing
her, the gate guard waved her through, and she couldn’t help but feel as though
he was laughing at her for her behavior yesterday. She held her head high and
marched to Ivana’s trailer with a steadfast resolve that weakened considerably
with every step closer to the dragon lady’s domain. Missy’s relief was almost
palpable when Lola answered her knock this time.

“Miss
Gladstone, how lovely to see you,” she said, accepting the cupcakes. “What
flavors do we have today?” she asked.

“Hi
Lola, it’s great to see you too,” Missy said, meaning it and glad that she
didn’t have to deal with the alternative. “I made an Orange Dream, a
Cheesecake-Filled Carrot, and a Double Fudge Peppermint,” she said proudly. “I
hope Miss Cherie enjoys them.”

“Oh,
I’m sure she will,” Lola responded, glancing over her shoulder into the
trailer. “Yesterday’s selections were quite a hit. She even said that she
thought that you’re the best cupcake artist that she’s ever encountered,” the
assistant confided in a low voice.

“Well,
it does my heart good to hear that,” Missy smiled. “See you tomorrow,” she
waved, heading back to the parking lot. Hearing a commotion on her way back,
she stepped over a yellow rope that was stretched between two pylons, wondering
what was happening. Stepping out from behind a bush, she was nearly overrun by
a man wielding a bloody axe, and an angry mob of zombies chasing him.

“Cut!”
she heard an angry scream, and turned to see a man with a handlebar mustache,
who was about her height, striding toward her, furious. “This is a closed set,
missy!” the man yelled, leaving her wondering how he knew her name. “Who are
you, and why are you intent upon ruining my movie?” he demanded, shoving his
face awkwardly close to hers, steeping her instantly in gin fumes.

“She’s
with me,” a deep male voice challenged as Ian appeared out of nowhere, slinging
an arm casually about her shoulders.

The
little man, who was apparently the director, then turned the volume down a bit
on his wrath. “Well, precious,” he said, sneering sweetly at Ian. “If you’re
going to have a pet, make sure it behaves,” he spat cattily, looking at Missy
like something on the bottom of his shoe.

Ian
chuckled, raising the director’s ire once again. “Sure thing, boss,” he waved
him off. He turned to Missy with a contagious grin. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,
looks like I’m just trouble with a capital T around here,” she shook her head,
her face warming.

“Meh,
don’t worry about Buckman. He’s a little…high-strung sometimes.”

“Buckman?”
she asked, causing Ian to look at her curiously.

“Paul
Buckman, the director,” he explained. “Don’t you ever go to the movies?” he asked,
surprised.

“Not
typically, no. I work six days a week, and when I’m off, I pretty much read
books, cook and play with my dogs,” she admitted, wondering what this man must
think of her provincial ways.

“That’s
fantastic,” he grinned. “I miss being able to have those kinds of times. I’m on
location so often that I’ve practically forgotten what home even looks like,”
he mused, his gaze darkening for a split second before returning to his
normally pleasant expression. “Maybe if I get a break in the action here
sometime, I could take your pups for a walk?” he suggested, hopefully.

“I’m
sure they’d like that,” Missy nodded, feeling sorry for the mega-star who never
got a break.

“I’m
due on set in a few, but you’re welcome to hang out and watch for a little bit.
I can show you where to stand so that no one yells at you,” he teased.

“That
would be fun,” she agreed, following him to another roped off area, entirely
oblivious to the piercing glare that she was being given by Ivana Cherie, who
had spotted them on the way to her makeup session.

**

Missy
stayed to watch the production for a couple of hours, delighted when Ian asked
her to accompany him to the lunch tent, and she got to meet cast and crew
members who all wholeheartedly praised her cupcakes. He invited her to come and
watch anytime that she’d like, providing her with a VIP guest pass so that she
could come and go as she pleased, without ever being questioned by security.
Cheryl was over the moon when she told her about it, and Missy had to laugh at
her enthusiasm. She took Ian up on his kind offer, and stayed to watch the
filming for at least a couple of hours every day, wildly entertained by the
stories and antics of the cast and crew, and embraced into their weird and
wonderful world like one of their very own.

Paul
Buckman did not deign to dignify her presence with an acknowledgment of her
existence, but occasionally shot dirty looks in her direction. There was an
awkward moment before lunch one day, as Missy and Ian headed to the lunch tent.
Ivana Cherie moved right into their path, blocking the way, and insisted that
Ian accompany her to her trailer to “work on lines.” It was obvious in the way
that her eyes roved his body, while she pressed suggestively against him, that
there would be something much steamier than rehearsal going on in her trailer.
Giving Missy a helpless look that said, “What can I do?” he trailed behind
Ivana like a happy puppy dog, leaving Missy to chat with the crew while
polishing off her catered lunch.

Missy
had just finished boxing up Ivana’s daily assortment, when Chas came in the
back door of the shop, entering the gleaming commercial kitchen, his face grim.

“Hey
handsome,” Missy greeted the detective, her smile fading when she noticed the
expression on his face. “What is it, Chas? What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

“I’ll
be going with you when you deliver cupcakes this morning,” he informed her
quietly. Her mind raced. She had told him about getting to know Ian and the
other cast and crew members, and she was now hoping against hope that someone
hadn’t misinterpreted her relationship with the movie star and made a fuss.
Chas certainly was not the jealous type, but she could understand how even the
most confident of men could be intimidated by Ian’s good looks and stardom.

“Well,
that would be wonderful,” she agreed brightly, hoping to put his mind at ease.

“No,
unfortunately, it won’t,” the detective sighed. “There was a death on the set
this morning. Apparently, prior to one of the murder scenes, someone replaced
the “killer’s” replica pistol with an actual pistol, and the result was pretty
gruesome. The actor playing the role of the killer had to be sedated.”

“Oh
my goodness, Chas, that’s positively awful,” Missy’s hands went to her throat
in horror. She come to know many of the cast members, and any one of their
deaths would be a tragedy. “Who was killed?” she asked, not wanting to hear the
answer.

Chas
moved over the where she stood, and placed his hands supportively on her
shoulders. “It was Ian, sweetie. I’m so sorry,” he said, knowing that they had
become friends.

A
sob escaped her throat as Chas pulled her into his arms and swayed back and
forth, comforting her. “He was such a nice person,” she sniffled, reaching into
her purse for a tissue and blotting her face. The text tone on her phone
pinged, and she looked down to see a message from Lola,  Ivana Cherie’s
assistant, pop up.

“Ms.
Cherie is distraught this morning. Please make absolutely sure that you’re on
time with her delivery. A million thanks. Lola.”

Looks
like we’d better get going, she said, blowing her nose. Chas nodded, then
waited for her to freshen up a bit before walking her to his unmarked car.
Cupcakes on her lap, she rode beside him in silence, thinking about the loss of
her new friend. When they pulled up to the site, there were seemingly dozens of
police cars, with uniforms swarming the little section of the bayou where the
movie had set up camp. Missy’s VIP badge meant nothing today, she would not
have been able to get past the police at the gate if she’d not been accompanied
by Chas.

Making
their way quickly to Ivana’s trailer, so as to not augment the actress’s
distress by delivering her cupcakes late, Missy noticed clumps of the cast and
crew milling about in varying states of shock. She whispered words of
encouragement to some who hugged her on the way to Ivana’s trailer.

Missy
knocked softly on Ivana’s door, and it flew inward suddenly.

“You
perfectly wretched woman,” Ivana hissed, mascara smeared down her cheeks, her
professionally tinted locks tossed up into a messy bun. “You knew that I was
having a horrible day and you couldn’t even to be bothered to be on time,” she
accused, eyes flashing.

Missy
glanced at her watch, knowing that she was supposed to show up with cupcakes at
precisely 9 a.m.  The digital numbers flashed up at her: 0900.37 – Ivana was
nearly hysterical because she was 37 seconds late.

“My
apologies, Ms. Cherie,” Missy said stiffly, determined to be respectful because
she knew that Ivana and Ian had been…involved. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She
handed the box of cupcakes to the actress, and turned to leave.

“You’re
sorry for my loss? Right. I’ll just bet you are. Don’t think that I didn’t see
the way that you were sniffing around Ian. You probably switched the guns
yourself because you knew you couldn’t have him,” she accused, seeming as
though she were under the influence of something.

Missy’s
blood boiled. “Ian was my friend. How dare you try to…” she began, teeth
clenched, her whole body trembling with fury.

Putting
a steadying hand on her arm, Chas, who had been, until this point, looking
around the immediate vicinity as though he’d dropped something, appeared,
interrupting the impending tongue-lashing. “Ms. Cherie,” he said, cutting
Missy’s tirade short. “I’m Detective Chas Beckett with the LaChance Police Department.
I’m sorry to disturb you during your time of grief, but I’d like to ask you a
few questions if you don’t mind. I promise I’ll make it brief,” he said
earnestly, his calm voice working some sort of magic upon the unreasonable
woman.

“Of
course, Detective,” Ivana purred, eyeing Chas like he was a piece of meat in
the butcher shop window. “Come right in,” she opened her door wide, revealing
that she was wearing only a thin silk robe.

“Oh,
I don’t want you to go to any trouble. If you don’t mind, I’d actually like to
stay out here, in case any of my men need me,” he said smoothly, indicating a
group of uniforms with a tilt of his head.

“Of
course, I understand,” she smiled sweetly, padding out onto the tiny porch and
sitting gingerly on the steps, gazing up at Chas with big blue eyes. Seeing
that Missy was hovering nearby, she frowned. “You’re still here? Why? Why is
that happening?” she demanded, her voice rising.

Without
a word, Missy merely shook her head, turned on her heel and headed for Chas’s
car. Once there, she leaned her head back against the seat, feeling limp. It
wasn’t bad enough that a friend of hers had been killed in a terrible accident,
but now she’d had to put up with being berated by a spoiled princess who
accused her of murder, for being 37 seconds late with a cupcake delivery. Her
head pounded, and the rising temperature of the bayou compounded her
discomfort. She slipped into a fitful sleep, waking up glistening with sweat
when Chas opened his door.

“You
okay?” Chas asked, brushing back damp curls from Missy’s forehead.

She
nodded, still drowsy. “I just wish that I had some water,” she sighed, a hand
over her eyes to block out the sun streaming in the windshield.

“Your
wish is my command,” Chas said, reaching into the back seat. He jiggled the lid
off of a small cooler and pulled out a bottle of ice cold water, which reminded
Missy of Ian and brought tears to her eyes. To distract herself from thoughts
of her dead friend, she asked about Ivana.

“So
how did things go with the Ice Queen?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Not
so bad. She seems to think that you had something to do with Ian’s murder, but
I can’t quite figure out why. She’s having a rough time right now,” he said
quietly.

Missy
snorted. “A rough time? Yeah, I can see how it would be hell to have your
custom-made cupcakes arrive 37 seconds late,” she said, her voice dripping with
sarcasm.

“I
think there’s more to Ivana’s story than anyone realizes,” Chas returned, his
voice a mild rebuke.

Missy
looked at him in wonder. “You do realize that she’s an internationally famous
actress, right?”

“Meaning?”
he raised an eyebrow.

“Meaning
that it’s her job to convince people all over the world that she’s someone or
something other than the uber-spoiled diva that she is. She pretends for a
living, Chas, and she’s really good at it. Don’t you think there’s the
slightest possibility that she’s playing you? And if she is, there may be a
darn good reason for it!”

A
muscle in the detective’s jaw flexed repeatedly as he chose his next words very
carefully. “Yes, she’s an actress, playing make-believe is her job, and she’s
good at it. My job is to find facts, not indulge in fiction, and I’m good at
what I do too,” he reminded her. “Just because people are famous, doesn’t mean
they’re happy. Ian Carson was her lover, Missy. I’m sure that she had nothing
to do with his death,” Chas looked at her, adamant. “She does, however, think
that you had something to do with it,” he sighed.

“What?
Why on earth would she think that?” Missy demanded.

“Ivana
was distraught when she heard the news, and ran to Ian’s dressing room to cry.
When she got there she found one of your cupcakes, half-eaten, next to his
water bottle. She thinks that you went there to give him a cupcake and seduce
him, but when he didn’t respond, you ran to the prop room and switched out the
gun,” Chas explained.

“That’s
preposterous,” Missy exclaimed, shaking her head at the nerve of that
unpleasant woman, trying to frame her.

Chas
paused for a moment, not wanting to ask the next question, but needing to. “Did
you take him a cupcake?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Missy’s
mouth fell open. Never in the entire time that they’d been seeing one another,
had Chas ever mistrusted her. One of the reasons that the two of them got along
so well was that they were completely honest and open and kept no secrets from
each other. “Chas, I would never…of course not, I…no!” she insisted, eyes
welling with tears. “I can’t believe you’d even ask me that. You’re the only
man I’m interested in. I’d never do that to you,” she protested, angry that he
believed the lies that Ivana quite obviously had told him.

“I
wasn’t insinuating anything, Missy,” he replied tiredly. “I just wanted to know
if you had brought your friend a cupcake, that’s all.”

Missy
sat up straight in her seat as Chas drove toward town. “Wait, Chas! I just
thought of something…” she said, excitedly. “What flavor was the cupcake?” she
asked, knowing that, as thorough as Chas was in his investigations, it was a
question he’d have thought to ask.

“German
Chocolate Cherry, why?”

“I
knew it! I didn’t make German Chocolate Cherry for the crew yesterday, but I
did make one for Ivana. If there was a half-eaten cupcake in Ian’s room, the
only person who could’ve put it there would be Ivana,” she explained
triumphantly.

“What
motivation would she have for putting a half-eaten cupcake in his bedroom?” the
detective asked, skeptical.

“Oh,
gee…uh, I don’t know. How about maybe because she hates me, or she’s just
trying to frame me for her lover’s murder because I’m showing the world that
it’s possible for men and women to be friends without the relationship turning
into anything more,” Missy spat like an angry kitten, her grey eyes flashing.

“You
do realize that the fact that you were his friend, and that you would have had
easy access to a cupcake that was identical to the one that you gave Ivana,
makes her story sound at least a little bit plausible, right?” he asked,
glancing at her as he drove.

“Chas
Beckett!” she exclaimed, furious. “You don’t seriously think that I tried to
seduce Ian Carson with a cupcake, do you???”

“Of
course not,” he grimaced. “All I’m saying is that apparently Ivana has been
spreading that rumor all over the place, and it will have to be addressed
before I can move forward with the investigation.”