“Does that mean you’re going to finally let me do some of the body prep?” she challenged, a gleam in her eye.

  Tim blinked at her and sighed.

  “No. I’ve explained this. Preparation of the deceased is an art form that takes years of practice to perfect. I will continue to create art, and you will assist and observe and deal with clients.”

  “How am I ever going to learn if you never let me do anything?” Fiona complained, hands on hips, tapping her foot impatiently and pushing her lower lip out into a pout.

  The hole from the piercing she’d had there was nearly entirely closed, and it was hard to imagine that the attractive young woman had once sported black, shabby clothing, a mohawk and multiple piercings. She’d been attractive before her Missy and Echo makeover, but in a much edgier way.

  Tim stared at her. On the one hand, he was annoyed that she was constantly underfoot, asking questions, peering over his shoulder, crowding him as he created his masterpieces, but, at the same time, he found in her a kindred spirit who viewed the preparation of the dead with the proper reverence. It wasn’t about the person that the deceased had once been – that person had vacated the vessel – it was about causing the lifeless flesh beneath his hands to resemble the vital person that they had been while still drawing breath. This is what touched the hearts of those left behind, and this was the challenge that prompted the reticent mortician to rise from his bed every morning.

  Sighing deeply, Tim frowned at his eager and mildly belligerent young assistant.

  “If I allow you to practice on the closed casket remains, will you stop bothering me?” he asked, blinking at her from behind his thick glasses.

  “For a while,” she grinned, thinking of the challenge that it would be to piece together the remains from accidents of all kinds.

  “Fine. When we get a CC in, you can practice, but if your work isn’t pristine, you won’t even get those,” the mortician warned.

  He took his business very seriously, and would not allow a hack to attempt to work their craft in his mortuary.

  “You got it boss man,” Fiona grinned.

  Her eyes lit up as she heard the office phone ring, and she dashed from Tim’s office to go answer it. Tim didn’t answer the phone. To say that he was not a people person was an extreme understatement, so he allowed Fiona to take charge of almost every instance of human contact, be it on the phone or in person. She reappeared in his office a few minutes later.

  “That was “Detective Tall-Dark-and-Handsome.” You’ve got a body to investigate,” Fiona announced, handing him a yellow sticky note with the address on it.

  Tim looked at the sticky note and nodded.

  “If I’m late getting back, just lock up at the usual time,” he said absently, heading downstairs for his bag. His official training was supposed to start next week, but in the meantime, he knew enough about what he was doing to determine what testing would be necessary to determine criminal activity.

  “Remember what you said…if it’s an accident…” Fiona called after her boss, who, as usual, declined to reply.

  **

  Chas greeted Tim Eckels when the mortician arrived at the scene and ducked under the yellow tape that cordoned off the area. The pale, doughy man glanced around the area behind the popular nightclub with distaste. The alley smelled of old beer and older garbage, and he didn’t even want to know what went on behind the various stacks of crates and bins.

  The detective beckoned Tim to follow him to where a body lay between two industrial-sized dumpsters. What he saw when he got there stopped him in his tracks. The tiny, fit, young woman’s beautiful auburn hair splayed out, covering her face as she lay on her stomach.

  “Well, there’s no doubt that this is a murder,” the mortician muttered, noting the pool of blood that had seeped from the victim.

  He took a camera that Chas had issued to him upon taking the interim M.E. position, and snapped several photos, making certain that the body wasn’t disturbed at all. Once he finished, they turned her over and repeated the process, and then it was time to get to the meat of his task.

  **

  Spencer Bengal was a man who knew when it was time to reach outside of himself and bring in more resources. Now was such a time. He drove the long familiar road until it turned from asphalt to dirt, eventually withering away into the tangle of Florida swampland. The going was slow, as he made his way to the cabin that had been of such good use to him in the past. He’d last seen his fellow Marine, Janssen, in New York. Missy and Chas had gone on vacation, and Spencer had joined them. He had a job to do, no matter what the locale, and somehow, Janssen had known exactly where to go and how to get there, turning up just in time to do what was necessary.

  The man who’d been so scarred by war that he’d been unable to cope with living in the midst of humanity, always seemed to turn up in the nick of time whenever his Marine buddy, Spencer, needed him. Spencer was hoping against hope that that would be the case this time as well, there was a lot on the line, and it would most likely take both of them to do what needed to be done.

  He approached the cabin and found the door ajar. Moving slowly, he kept his back to the wall and peered into the windows, seeing a dark figure sitting inside.

  “Been a long time, man,” Janssen called out. “I hope you brought beer.”

  Spencer chuckled, held up the six pack in his hand, then jogged to the porch and mounted the steps.

  CHAPTER 10

  Missy, Echo and Kel sat down at their favorite bistro table in the eating area of Cupcakes in Paradise, determined to puzzle out which awful event that Izzy Gillmore’s stalker would be likely to perpetrate next. Echo had brought her brand-new-yet-dog-eared copy of the next book in the series, with passages highlighted, and marked with sticky notes for easy reference.

  As usual, when she was upset about something – and after yesterday’s reptilian event, she had definitely been a bit upset – Missy had spent some serious kitchen time, and had come up with yet another new cupcake for the trio to try while they dissected Izzy’s book for clues. She’d created a dark chocolate cherry masterpiece, using carob for Echo’s vegan version, by whipping together cherry pie filling with cream cheese for the creamy center of the cupcake, and topping the luscious dessert off with a generous dollop of fluffy fudge frosting, dark chocolate chips and a juicy cherry. When Kel saw her latest creations, he helped himself to two, despite his resolve to maintain a healthier eating regimen.

  “Your cupcakes will surely be the death of me someday, dear lady,” he proclaimed, taking a huge bite, being careful to not allow even a single delightful crumb to drop back onto his wrapper.

  “Well, we’ve all gotta go sometime, and all things considered, this way isn’t all that bad,” Echo teased, swiping her finger through the whipped carob frosting on her vegan cupcake. Missy had even found soy-based cream cheese, so her friend could indulge in nearly the same recipe.

  “Hopefully we can figure out Izzy’s stalker’s next move so that the poor girl doesn’t have to face her own mortality anytime soon,” Missy said gravely, reminding them why they were all there.

  “Indeed,” Kel nodded, always one to try to get to the heart of solving a mystery. “In each of her books, there seems to be a pattern involving four non-lethal incidents, and of course, one final, lethal incident,” he began, getting down to the business at hand.

  The artist had a keen and analytical mind, along with an uncanny insight into people that made him a valuable asset in trying to figure out what might happen next.

  “The good news is, the protagonist in her books usually manages to stay a few steps ahead of whatever evil person or force is pursuing them. It’s always a secondary character who gets killed, and usually it’s done to simply send a message to the main character,” he continued.

  “So far,” Echo interjected.

  “What do you mean?” Missy asked, taking a sip of her piping hot coffee.

  “The main character has escaped harm so far. That doesn’t mean that she hasn’t written a book that came after the one that we just read, where the main character is the person who dies. Maybe whoever is doing this is working their way through Izzy’s novels, stalking her and scaring her, to lead up to the moment when they actually kill her,” she proposed.

  Missy shuddered. “Well, I certainly hope not, but if that is the case, then we definitely need to get this figured out and put a stop to it before whoever is doing this goes too far and someone actually gets hurt.”

  “Where is Izzy this morning? Is she worried at all?” Kel asked, pen poised over his notepad.

  “When I came through the Inn, she hadn’t come down for breakfast I didn’t see her, so I…” Missy stopped speaking abruptly when a tall, willowy blond came in the door of the shop.

  “Hello, can I help you?” Missy asked pleasantly, despite the fact that the shop didn’t technically open for another hour.

  “I hope so,” the 30-something woman with a faint East Coast accent replied brightly.

  She approached the table with a smile as Kel looked at her pensively.

  “I’m sorry, have we met?” he asked, before the woman could continue. “You look so familiar.”

  She blushed slightly and giggled. “I don’t know that we’ve met, but you may be familiar with my work. I’m Genevieve Lightman, but please, call me Gen,” she stuck out her hand and Kel shook it, light dawning in his eyes.

  “Genevieve Lightman…the paranormal writer!” he exclaimed. “That’s why you look familiar, I recognize you from the back of your books,” the artist shook her hand with a smile.

  “Oh my goodness, how nice to meet you,” Missy introduced herself after Kel had made introductions for himself and Echo. “What brings you to my humble little cupcake shop?” she grinned.

  “Well, I originally went over to the Inn, because a little birdie told me that my very dear friend Izzy was staying there. I needed some time off, and figured that if she found an oasis of peace and quiet, I could come down here and surprise her, then relax and unwind for a few days. Your sweet little Innkeeper told me that she hadn’t seen Izzy yet this morning, but that I was welcome to walk over to the cupcake shop and see if you knew where she might be, so here I am,” Gen finished with a grin.

  “And I have to tell you, the combined scent of coffee and cupcakes is just killing me right now,” she giggled.

  “Well, I don’t think that Izzy has made it down to breakfast just yet, but you can go take a look at the cupcake selection and choose whichever ones you’d like to try. I’ll run and get you a cup of coffee. We’re technically not open yet, but you’re welcome to make yourself comfortable and enjoy a coffee and cupcake breakfast with us,” Missy offered.

  “You are just as sweet as this little shop, and I adore your southern accent, by the way, but actually, if I could get those to-go, I’d love to go sit on the beach.”

  “Of course, no problem darlin, you just choose your cupcakes and I’ll grab a to-go cup of coffee for you. Creams and sugars are on the counter over there, so help yourself.”

  Gen chose a Coconut Cream cupcake and a Strawberry Lemonade cupcake to go, and was surprised when Missy refused to take any money.

  “No, sweetie. Any friend of Izzy’s is a friend of ours,” Missy waved her off with a smile.

  “Thank you so much. When I meet folks like you, I wonder why I don’t just move down here to the Sunshine State,” she beamed. “It was such a pleasure,” the internationally famous “ghost book” author waved to Echo and Kel on her way out, leaving them open-mouthed in her wake.

  The three of them sat, staring at the door where Gen had just exited, and finally Echo broke the silence.

  “Wow, how many famous authors are we going to meet this week?” she joked.

  “What a delightful young lady,” Kel nodded. “I’ve read a few of her books, but I do prefer other authors.”

  “I haven’t read any of her books, but I’ve seen interviews with her, and she seems just as lovely in person as she is on TV. Apparently, she does a lot of charity work,” Missy added. “Now, back to figuring out the stalker’s next move…” she said pointedly, tapping her note pad with her pen.

  “Okay, the four events to watch out for in this book are…” Echo flipped the pages of her book to reveal the first set of sticky notes. “Blood wiped on the doorjambs of the main character’s house…” she began.

  “It was goat’s blood, wasn’t it?” Kel asked, pen poised.

  “Yes, because it was a ritualistic thing,” Missy nodded. “If the stalker does that, we may be able to figure out who he is by watching the security camera footage,” she pointed out. “And no one but the poor, innocent goat will get hurt.”

  “Second…her bed was set on fire,” Echo raised her eyebrows.

  “Not a worry. Security is tight enough around here that that could never happen,” Missy was relieved.

  “Third…a plague of spiders invaded her house.”

  Kel shuddered visibly and made a face.

  “And fourth, she drove out to that remote area by the shipping docks, and when she came back, her tires were slashed and the inside of her car was filled with rotted meat,” Echo nearly gagged as she said it.

  “Well, if we keep Izzy away from the docks, I think we’ll be okay,” Kel quipped. “I haven’t read this one in a while, remind me of how the victim is killed.”

  “She goes to a club, and receives an anonymous text that says her ex-boyfriend needs help and is in the alley behind the club. Once she goes outside, the madman grabs her from behind and slashes her throat, then leaves her between two dumpsters,” Missy grimaced.

  “How do you read all of these grim stories?” Echo shook her head in wonder.

  “Because they’re not grim. I mean, yes, terrible things happen, but the main character always manages to figure out what to do to save themselves, or humanity, or whatever,” she shrugged.

  “They’re quite well-written too,” Kel pointed out.

  “True. Izzy does tell a good story. I had to lock all of my doors and windows last night it creeped me out so badly,” Echo admitted.

  “You mean you haven’t been doing that already?” Kel arched an eyebrow at her.

  “Well, fortunately, unlike Izzy’s characters, I don’t seem to run into monsters and serial killers on a regular basis,” she rolled her eyes.

  “It only takes one,” her over-protective fiancé muttered.

  “So basically, it looks like we can just alert Spencer to be on the lookout for strangers lurking about after dark, and let the security cameras do their job,” Missy shrugged, looking dissatisfied.

  “Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that that all sounds just a bit too easy?” Echo murmured.

  CHAPTER 11

  Missy closed up the shop and headed to the Inn to see if Maggie needed anything before she took Toffee and Bitsy for their evening walk. The weary owner was shocked to her foundations to hear voices raised in conflict when she opened the door to the grand foyer. Rushing in to see what was happening, she saw a bone-thin woman, with the tanned leathery skin that was typical of many of the retirees that she encountered, and a shock of short red hair, that, in the light of the waning sun, seemed to be aflame. The overly made-up scarecrow of a woman was clearly invading poor, sweet Maggie’s personal space, her chin jutting forward as she thrust her face quite near the innkeeper, but the dear woman stood her ground in the face of abject belligerence.

  “I’m sorry Ms. Banks, but the privacy of our guests is paramount…” Maggie began, reasonably, and the fiery old crone cut her off.

  “Don’t you dare speak to me about policy. I know for a fact that Izzy Gillmore is here, she’s been using her credit cards, so don’t even try me,” Ms. Banks threatened, her nasal New York accent thick.

  “That girl has been avoiding my calls and she’s coming up on a deadline. Now either you tell me where she is or I’ll bust down every door in this place until I find her,” the woman continued, clearly hopping mad.

  Missy had to take a deep breath and really channel her inner southern hostess charm in order to face this dragon of a woman. No one treated Maggie like this, not under Missy’s roof.

  “Excuse me, is there a problem here?” she asked pleasantly, pasting on a smile, while Maggie remained ramrod straight, staring the rude New Yorker down.

  “You’re darn tootin’ there’s a problem here,” the woman turned on Missy like a snake ready to strike. “This employee,” she jabbed a gnarled finger with an impossibly bright red enameled nail on it in Maggie’s direction. “Refuses to give me the simple bit of assistance that I need,” she accused, eyes slitted.

  “Well, I’d be happy to see what I can do for you,” Missy ignored the jab at Maggie, because if she dwelt on it, things might get rather ugly.

  “I’m Melissa Gladstone-Beckett, the owner of The Beach House,” Missy extended her hand, daring the old prune to ignore it.

  She received a perfunctory press from the arthritic grip. “Miranda Banks. It’s about time I got to speak to somebody in charge,” she huffed, giving Maggie a dirty glare.

  “Actually, when it comes to anything related to the Inn, Maggie is in charge,” Missy replied with a tight smile. “Maggie, could you go see what Spencer is up to?” she asked innocently.

  The Innkeeper gave her a knowing glance and nodded. With a final look of disdain thrown in Miranda Banks’ direction, she turned and left the room.

  “What seems to be the issue, Ms. Banks?” Missy asked, once Maggie had gone.

  “The issue is that one of my writers is holing up here, hiding from me. She isn’t answering my calls or emails, and she’s coming up on a deadline, so it’s imperative that I speak with her,” the publisher insisted, her breath smelling of stale cigarette smoke and far too much coffee.

  Missy stared at the woman for a moment, now fully understanding why Izzy had been so anxious to be left alone. If this was what she had to deal with on a daily basis, the need for escape was entirely evident.