Strawberry Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 13 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) (4 page)

Echo
dug her toes into the sugar-white sand and sighed. This vacation had not turned
out at all the way she’d expected. When Frank had impulsively suggested that it
would do both of them good to travel and relax for a while, she’d agreed, even
letting him convince her to “really get away from it all” by leaving her cell
phone in a kitchen drawer, along with his. The trip had started out with her
feeling wild and carefree, taking off without a backward glance to live life
with a sense of abandon that she hadn’t felt in a very long time, but now she
found herself beginning to wonder if her best friend, Missy might not have been
at least a little bit right about Frank and his possessive and controlling
ways.

They
had driven through Mississippi and Alabama, taking their time, spending the
night in a nice hotel and ordering room service for breakfast before getting
back on the road, headed for Georgia and ultimately Florida. They’d stopped at
antique malls, tourist attractions and roadside fruit and vegetable stands,
meandering their way east and south, getting closer and closer to their
destination. It seemed to Echo that the closer they got to Key West, the more
uptight Frank became.

“Most
people go on vacation to relax,” she had teased, receiving a rather stony
silence in return.

Passing
his strange behavior off as “first-trip-together-as-a-couple jitters, she had
tried to be more attentive and entertaining, but nothing seemed to help, so she
fell quiet, determined to enjoy the scenery and experiences whether Frank did
or not. It was a relief to finally arrive at their private beach rental so that
she wouldn’t have to endure the weird silence as the miles flew by. She planned
to read books, sunbathe, swim and go for long walks. If Frank chose to
participate, she’d be glad, if not, that was his choice and she wasn’t going to
let that ruin her vacation.

The
beach house was fully stocked with food, linens and everything they’d need for
the two weeks that they planned on spending there. Although their location was
completely private, there were several restaurants and shopping areas within
bicycling distance, and Echo looked forward to visiting them. They arrived late
in the evening on their first day, so rather than going out for dinner, they
opted to stay in and nibble on some of the prepared salads that their rental
host had thoughtfully provided. They walked on the beach in the moonlight,
holding hands, and all was well…until the next day.

Echo
had enjoyed their lazy breakfast and reading on a beach lounger sipping
mimosas, but when she finished her book, she was ready to explore. Frank didn’t
want to get sunburned, so after a few minutes on a lounger, he had retreated to
the living room to watch TV. Brushing the sand from her feet, Echo padded into
the beach house, sitting next to him on the couch and giving him a kiss.

“You
know, we’re going to have to pay for damages if you stain the couch with suntan
lotion,” he grumbled, backing away.

“It’s
non-staining…I always get that kind,” Echo replied, surprised.

“Good,”
he said, staring at the television and changing channels.

“Frank,
is there something wrong? You’ve been acting very strangely, and if I’ve done
something that has upset you, just let me know so that we can talk about it,”
she said, placing a hand gently on his bicep.

The
clearly stressed man sighed. “Nothing is wrong. I’m on vacation and I just want
to sit and watch some TV in peace and quiet, is that too much to ask?” he
complained.

Echo
pursed her lips and took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check. She
couldn’t understand why the man who had wooed her for several weeks had now
turned into this brooding stranger. “My understanding was that this vacation
was going to be about spending time together and exploring our relationship,”
she said, giving him a pointed look.

He
looked at her, annoyed at first, then seeming to soften. “Look, doll, I’m
sorry, okay? It was a long drive and I just need to catch up on some rest, then
I’ll be ready to get up and go do things with you. I need to decompress for a
bit, but I don’t mind at all if you want to go explore. I’ll be here when you
get back – take lots of pictures,” he smiled, kissing the tip of her nose and
considering the matter settled.

“Okay,”
Echo replied, at least somewhat satisfied with his explanation. Truth be told,
she was actually looking forward to taking her time and exploring the shops and
restaurants that made the area famous. If she went by herself, she wouldn’t
feel rushed, and could linger in a coffee shop all afternoon if she felt like
it, enjoying the tropical breezes.

**

Echo
had lost track of time – delighted that there was so much to see and do. She’d
meandered aimlessly from shop to shop, stopping occasionally for coffee, gelato
and key lime pie. She’d talked with locals and tourists alike, and even
received an invitation to a beach party later on in the week. By the time she
mounted her bike to head back to the beach house, it was nearly dinner time, so
she stopped and picked up a large bucket of steamed clams, which rode proudly
in her bike basket. She strolled into the house, bearing her bounty of the sea,
and couldn’t find Frank anywhere. She went from room to room, calling his name,
before finally venturing outside to find him sitting under a beach umbrella on
a lounger, staring out to sea.

“Hey
there,” she called, swinging her bucket of clams in one hand, carrying a bottle
of wine and two glasses in the other.

“Where
have you been?” he asked without looking at her, his voice deadly quiet.

“I
went into town, you knew that,” she said deflated. “You said you wouldn’t mind
at all,” she reminded him, her voice faintly accusing.

“And
what were you doing?” he still stared out at the ocean.

“I
shopped, I stopped for coffee and pie, I met some really fun people, who…”

“Fun
people?” he cut her off. “You mean men. You met fun men, and spent time with
them. That’s what you really meant, isn’t it?” he accused coldly, finally
turning to look at her with disapproval.

Echo
was done. She recognized a domineering, possessive man when she saw one, and
she had left that type of life behind a long time ago. “No, I said that I met
fun people, and that’s exactly what I meant. Fun. People. How dare you presume
to accuse me?” she snarled. “It was your idea to come on this vacation, your
idea to just drop everything and get away, and you’ve been nothing but a rude,
controlling, bastard the entire trip. I’m sick of it, and I’m leaving,” she
finished, making an on-the-spot decision.

“You’re
not going anywhere,” he said quietly.

“Watch
me,” she shot back, slogging through the soft, fine sand back to the house.

She
went into the bedroom, pulled out her suitcase and snatched her clothes out of
drawers and off of hangers, throwing them in. She then went through the same
process with her toiletries, tossing them carelessly into her makeup bag. She
planned to either ride a bike, which could prove difficult with her baggage, or
walk to town, then take a taxi back to the mainland where she could catch a
flight home. They had driven Frank’s car down, so he could find his own way
back…or not, for all she cared. Echo had fled from California to escape a man
much like Frank Capetti, and she wasn’t even going to think twice about
leaving. Picking up her bags, and sliding her feet into sandals, she headed for
the door, where Frank stood waiting for her, with a smart phone in his hand.

“The
house is a smart house,” he said, his eyes cold. “I control all of the locks,
doors and windows from this phone. Like I said before, you’re not going
anywhere,” he stepped toward her as her bags hit the floor with a thud.

Chas
Beckett was more worried and more puzzled than ever. He’d done some
investigating and found out that Frank Capetti had quite a dark past. His
parents had died of undetermined causes when he was young, so he spent the bulk
of his childhood in various orphanages and foster homes, bouncing around from
home to home like a human ping-pong ball and getting in trouble wherever he
went. He’d done jail time for everything from drugs to burglary, but perhaps
the most alarming thing was that he’d also been arrested multiple times for
domestic violence. Some of his victims had been so badly abused that they’d
ended up in the hospital.

It
was a pretty good assumption that Echo was most likely with him, since they’d
disappeared at the same time, and Missy might also be in his clutches, having
disappeared a day later. The thing that didn’t add up was Brad’s murder.
Jealousy had been established as Capetti’s motive for beating up the women in
his life, but he’d never killed anyone and never so much as assaulted a man,
choosing to bruise and bully the women who loved him instead.

Capetti
hadn’t been lying about writing text books, that actually is what he did for a
living, but another disturbing fact that Chas had unearthed about the unsavory
character was that the current focus of his work was in psychology, sociology and
criminal behavior. So, not only did Capetti already have the tendency to
inflict physical harm upon others, he most likely was also highly educated in
how to manipulate others emotionally in order to build trust so that they’d
willingly but unwittingly put themselves in harm’s way at his hand.

Bitsy
had curled up around the detective’s feet as he sat in his home office staring
at reports and lab work so long that the words on the page blurred, and Toffee
came over and laid her head in his lap, gazing up at him with warm, chocolatey
eyes.

“I
know girl, I miss her too,” he said, stroking the golden’s silky ears. “I’ll
bring her back, I promise.”

Missy
was groggy and so ridiculously thirsty. She had torturous dreams of crawling
through the desert, her hands raw from desert scrub and her throat and eyes
blistered by sand, waking to find that, although the source was different, the
result was the same. Her thoughts had cleared to a degree that she could make
the decision that something had to give. She felt her life ebbing away from her
and knew that she couldn’t continue putting up with these conditions and expect
to live. Listening for any sound that would indicate that someone was about,
she heard nothing and decided that it was now or never – she had to try to free
herself, or die trying.

She
felt the same type of cushion on which she was lying, rise up beside her to her
right, which meant that if she truly were on a couch, there should be an edge
to her left. Using what meager strength she had, she scooted her body to the
left, inch by inch, until she felt an edge. Her limbs tingled with misuse, but
she continued scooting over until she could swing her legs over and rest them
on the floor. The effort made her head swim and she stayed very still,
recovering for a bit before attempting to sit up.

Gathering
her strength for what seemed like a Herculean task, Missy struggled and
strained and finally sat upright, panting with exertion. Dismayed that she
couldn’t see, not even knowing whether it was day or night, she was determined
to find her way out of her current circumstances. Scooting her bottom close to
the edge and then over it, she slid carefully down to the floor, her knuckles
scraping against rough wood planks. She rested for a moment, and then,
encouraged by her progress thus far, began scooting along to her left, keeping
her back against the couch, looking for something that she could scrape her
wrists against to cut through the tape that bound her.

She
bumped along the perimeter of the room slowly, running into various objects,
none of which had any sharp surfaces that she could use. She worked her way
along a wall next to the couch, noting that the surface changed from what felt
like a smooth type of paneling, to a stone texture that morphed into a
fireplace. The hearth of the fireplace had a sharp, rough corner that should
work nicely and she moved her hands up and down behind her back, trying to cut
through. The tape was thicker and stronger than she had anticipated, and sweat
beaded her brow before she finally heard the gratifying sound of threads
beginning to snap.

Missy
heard what sounded like car tires crunching on a gravel road and her efforts
became more frenzied. There was no turning back now. If her captor came back
and found that she was attempting to escape, he’d either drug her again, or
simply kill her. Her survival depended on breaking through those bonds in the
next few seconds, and she pistoned her arms frantically up and down, tearing
through flesh as well as tape in a desperate effort to free herself. She heard
a key jiggling in a lock in a door to her left, and grunted out a last bit of
strength, finally tearing through her bonds. She had just torn the blindfold
from her eyes and removed the rag from her mouth when she heard the door open
and sunlight poured into the rough cabin.

“Well
now,” said a man whose face she couldn’t see because he was so brightly backlit
while standing in the doorway. “This just won’t do,” he shook his head. “This
won’t do at all.”

He
approached her slowly and reached toward her. Instinct took over when Missy saw
the stubby-fingered hand in her blurred field of vision, and lighting fast, she
reached out to the fireplace, grabbed a wrought iron poker tool, and swung it
as hard as her still-partially asleep arms would allow, striking her captor
soundly just above the ear, knocking him sideways. When he fell to his knees,
holding his head, she struck him again, knocking him out, her vision still
blurry from the blindfold. Blinking rapidly and not stopping to think, Missy
stabbed the pointer between her ankles, ripping the tape that held her feet
together. Jabbing again and again until she could tear the shreds of tape apart
with her half-numb hands, she worked the poker, then tossed it aside, rubbing
her ankles for a moment, before gingerly trying to stand.

Looking
down at her captor, but still unable to see him clearly, Missy made a wide
circle around him to get to the door, thankful that he was still unconscious.
The door was open wide, the way that the evil man had left it, and Missy
hobbled out of it, wishing desperately for strength and a drink of water. She
saw a car parked in front of the tiny cabin and checked to see if it was
unlocked. It wasn’t and there was no way that she was going back into the cabin
to look for the keys.

The
smell of marsh assaulted her nostrils, and trying hard to focus, Missy tried to
get her bearings. Apparently she had been held captive in the middle of a
swamp. The thought of facing snakes, gators and other dangers of a Louisiana
swamp was daunting at best, but the thought of taking her chances with the
creepy man in the cabin was even worse, so she set off toward what looked like
a stand of trees in the distance, hoping for some cover in which to hide and
some signs of civilization.