“Your assistant seemed to be in a bit of a hurry.”

  “There was a terrible car accident, so she’ll get to practice her presentation skills. She’s on the way to accept delivery of the deceased,” the mortician replied without expression.

  Chas paused for a moment, staring at the doughy man in front of him. The fascination that he and his assistant had with death was always a bit creepy to him, but he shook off the feeling and got down to business.

  “Do you have a moment to talk about the Jane Doe from the other night?”

  “I was just researching that,” Tim replied, his expression still far away.

  “Oh?” Chas was confused. Perhaps the mortician had meant he’d reviewed his notes prior to taking a reading break.

  “Yes,” he nodded, holding up the novel.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the detective admitted finally, taking a chair across the desk from the quiet, pasty man behind the coke bottle glasses.

  “The papers that I pulled from the wound of the victim came from a book. This book,” Tim replied, waggling the novel.

  Chas’s eyes went to the book with instant laser focus.

  “Not this exact book, but this title,” the mortician explained hurriedly. “I recognized what was written on the pages because I’ve read the author’s work before, so I thought that maybe the rest of the book might give us a clue as to why the girl was murdered.”

  “Any ideas?” the detective leaned forward.

  “Seems like a ritual. The things that happen to the main character are almost religious in nature. Blood on the doors, plagues of spider’s and snakes – maybe this girl was in a cult or something?” the mortician shrugged, then noticed the stunned look on the detective’s face. “What?”

  “That’s hitting a little too close to home,” Chas said quietly. “Can you write down the author and title of the book for me?” he asked, his mind racing.

  Tim did so, and the detective folded the paper that was handed to him in half and stuck it in his pocket when he stood to go.

  “Let me know if you find anything else, I have somewhere that I need to be,” he said cryptically, rushing from the room before the mortician could respond.

  **

  Spencer Bengal knew instantly that something was amiss at the Inn, when he returned from his trip to the cabin and discovered that Missy, Echo, Kel and Maggie were all standing on the front yard, while men dressed in protective gear scurried to and from white panel vans into the Inn.

  “What happened?” the Marine jogged over to the group, quickly assessing them to make sure that no one had been hurt.

  “Looks like Izzy’s stalker struck again,” Missy sighed. “I’m really starting to worry about that poor girl. No one has seen her for a couple of days.”

  “Spiders?” Spencer guessed, based upon what Missy had told him about Izzy’s book.

  “Yup, they were everywhere,” Echo nodded. “It’s really cool though, the bug guys have these gently vacuum things that suck up the little guys without hurting them, so that they can be released without being harmed.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” the Marine nodded. “How many were there?”

  “By the time we discovered them, the floor of the Wedgewood parlor was about half an inch deep in them,” Missy replied. “We got everybody out, in case any of them were poisonous, and I guess a few of them have been. Gen had already gone out for the morning, so she didn’t have to see it.”

  “They slipped in while I was away,” Spencer shook his head. “I should have been here.”

  “Oh, darlin, don’t blame yourself. Whoever is doing this is pretty clever. Scary clever. You can’t be expected to be awake and on guard 24/7,” Missy patted his thick, tattooed bicep.

  “I’m going to go see if they need a hand,” he replied, still clearly beating himself up for being gone.

  “Be careful,” Missy called after him.

  “Hey all, what’s going on?” Genevieve approached the group from behind, and stood between Echo and Missy, watching the Pest Control specialists scurrying to and fro.

  “Oh, it’ll be okay, sweetie. We just have a bit of a spider problem, but it’ll be taken care of,” Missy assured the author.

  “Well, thank goodness it’s not roaches,” Gen shuddered. “I can handle spiders, but roaches creep me out.”

  “I wouldn’t think anything would creep out a paranormal writer,” Echo chuckled. “The things that go on in your imagination keep the rest of us up at night.”

  “The advantage of being the one making up the stories is knowing where they come from. They’re not quite as scary when you’re the one controlling what happens,” the author grinned.

  Chas’s car pulled into the drive just then, and he jogged over to where the group was standing.

  “Spiders?” he asked grimly.

  Missy nodded, and he beckoned for her to follow him. Walking quickly over to stand inside the cupcake shop, where he could keep an eye on the Inn and speak privately, the detective regarded his wife gravely. He told her about the clue that had been found in a young woman’s death wound, and how Tim had mentioned that there had been incidents in the book that resembled what had been happening at the Inn. The blood drained from Missy’s face, and Chas looked at her with concern.

  “What did the woman look like?” she whispered.

  At her husband’s description, Missy swayed a bit.

  “Chas, I wish you had met her before she disappeared…I think the victim was Izzy Gillmore. She wrote the book that Tim Eckels was reading.”

  “I should’ve questioned her after the first incident. What do you mean “disappeared”?” the detective asked.

  “She made it sound like the whole stalking thing wasn’t a big deal, but she’s been gone for a couple of days now, and…”

  “Gone? What do you mean gone? Did she check out?”

  “No, she just said that she was going exploring, and she hasn’t come back,” Missy bit her lip.

  “Why didn’t you say something, sweetie?” Chas was concerned and a bit hurt.

  “Well, she’s very reclusive, and had made it clear that she wanted to be left alone, so no one was really sure if she was actually gone or not, and we didn’t want to bother her by checking in on her,” his wife said miserably.

  “And I may have had her killer in my office today,” the detective replied grimly. “I’m heading back to the station. Does Spencer know what Izzy Gillmore looks like?”

  “Yes, he’s talked with her a few times.”

  “Okay, I’ll give him a call if I need an ID on the body.”

  Chas kissed his wife on the cheek and strode toward his car. He had to find out what Briggs had discovered about Miranda Banks.

  CHAPTER 17

  Spencer rejoined Missy, Echo, Kel and Gen, just as Chas pulled out of the parking lot, headed for the police station.

  “They can’t allow me to help because of safety regulations,” he explained, clearly not pleased. “I can’t even get near the house.”

  “That’s okay, Spence. We’ll just wait for them to finish, then we’ll go inside and give the place our own vacuuming,” his boss replied, staring into space.

  Gen kept fidgeting and bending down to scratch at her ankles.

  “Have you encountered poison ivy, dear lady?” Kel asked, gazing down at the welts on her lower legs, some of which were bleeding from having been scratched.

  “Oh goodness, I hope not, but it looks like I encountered something,” the author was dismayed, looking down at her legs.

  “Maybe it’s an allergic reaction,” Echo suggested, peering down at Gen’s ankles.

  “Oh dear,” she worried, looking helpless.

  “I have just the thing,” Spencer spoke up. “There’s a first aid kit in the cabana with calamine lotion and some antihistamine tablets. Whether it’s poison ivy or a simple allergic reaction, between the two, you should be good to go in short order,” he explained, his manner subdued. Missy felt bad for the Marine, knowing that he blamed himself for not being at the Inn when the stalker struck again.

  “Hey,” Echo nudged her best friend after Spencer led Gen to the cabana. “Do you think there’s any romantic possibility there?” she speculated, watching the pair walk into the pool area.

  Missy raised an eyebrow at her perpetually matchmaking friend. “No, I don’t. In fact, I’ve never seen Spencer so disinterested in an attractive female since I’ve known him,” she mused.

  “It’s obviously because he’s secretly pining for me,” Echo batted her eyes as Kel guffawed behind her.

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s it, sweetie,” Missy rolled her eyes.

  **

  Chas Beckett went immediately to the evidence room at the station and checked out the box of items that had been collected at the murder scene behind the club, looking for one thing in particular, and finding it almost immediately. He picked up the baggie containing a cigarette butt that had the same color of red lipstick as the one found on his front porch, after the goat’s blood incident. The DNA results from the butts wouldn’t be back for a while yet, but when they came in, he bet that they would match the swab that had been taken from the ceramic mug that Miranda Banks had left at the front counter of the police station on her way out.

  “Hey, Detective,” Briggs popped his head into Chas’s office. “You got a minute?”

  “Yes, I do. I was just about to look for you, actually. Have a seat,” he offered. “What did you find out?”

  “Her story is legit,” the officer shrugged, handing over a file folder with a report on what he’d found in the security tapes, and a transcript of his call with the cab company that had transported the leathery diva from the bar to the hotel.

  “The times matched up with her story, and the bartenders from the bar and the hotel confirmed that they had had to deal with her,” Briggs chuckled.

  Chas frowned. Miranda’s extensive alibi had checked out on every front, yet there was evidence that looked like it came from her at two different crime scenes. Something wasn’t adding up.

  **

  Spencer had been meticulous in his examination of the welts on Genevieve’s legs as he’d put on rubber gloves and carefully coated her with calamine lotion. She took the antihistamine tablet that he offered with a thank you and a smoky look.

  “You’re really quite good at this…have you had medical training?” she flirted.

  “Every Marine learns basic triage skills,” he shrugged, peeling off his gloves and helping her to her feet. “Let me help you to your room – it looks like the Pest Control crew is finally gone.”

  “Well, I’d like that very much. Thank you, Mr…?”

  “Spencer, Spencer Bengal.”

  “Bengal? Like the tiger? Rawr…” Gen growled playfully.

  The Marine didn’t crack a smile.

  “Yeah, like the tiger,” he replied, leading the way to the Inn.

  The pair went in the back door, through the kitchen, past the dining room, and into the grand foyer, and stopped short, both of them staring.

  Genevieve went deathly white, and her mouth dropped open as she stared at her fellow author, Izzy Gillmore.

  “You…you’re alive, but…how…?” she gasped, looking nauseated, her hands at her throat.

  Izzy’s eyes flashed and she spoke through her teeth.

  “Yes, I’m alive, why wouldn’t I be? And what exactly do you think you’re doing here? How did you find me?” the tiny auburn-haired author seethed.

  Spencer watched the two of them with surprise. Gen had said that she was Izzy’s best friend, and Izzy’s manner indicated that she was anything but.

  “I…oh…” the tall, blonde author slumped into a faint, and Spencer caught her neatly, heading up the stairs toward her room, the set of skeleton keys in his pocket.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Izzy asked with a disgusted grimace.

  “A combination of things, I think. Surprise at seeing you, a heavy dose of antihistamine, and perhaps the bites from several spiders,” the Marine guessed nonchalantly.

  He climbed the stairs, carrying the passed-out author as though she weighed nothing, then let himself into her room with his passkey, Izzy trailing along in his wake. Placing Gen on the couch, he texted 911 to Chas, and began searching her room.

  By the time the detective arrived, Genevieve was just starting to come around, and Chas had an ambulance attendant evaluate her before placing her in handcuffs and putting her in a patrol car.

  “Show me what you’ve got,” he directed Spencer.

  “This,” he held up a corner of a plastic baggie full of lipstick-covered cigarette butts that had apparently been collected from Miranda Banks’ ashtrays and kept so that Gen could plant them at the scene of every act of vandalism that she committed.

  “And this,” he flipped up the bedspread to show a squirt bottle stained with remnants of goat’s blood. “And this,” he nudged a nightshirt that was puddled on the floor with his foot, exposing spots of blood on the trim.

  “And, most importantly…these,” he pointed to a paperback version of Izzy’s book that had passages highlighted and underlined, and had two pages which described the murder torn out of it. Next to it lay a large knife that had traces of blood on the handle.

  “Good work,” the detective shook Spencer’s hand.

  “It was Gen, the whole time,” Izzy murmured, shaking her head. “I knew she hated me, but I never thought that she’d do something like this. I honestly thought that it was either Miranda or the weird mortuary dude.”

  “It makes sense though, if you know Genevieve’s history,” Kel chimed in from the doorway, as Chas, Spencer and Izzy turned to look at him.

  “How so?” the detective asked.

  “Turns out that she gets the inspiration for most of her horror stories from a stint that she spent in an institution that her ultra-wealthy parents put her in when her imagination was a bit much for them to handle. I did some digging because I found it rather suspicious that she happened to show up just when Izzy disappeared, and no trace of a vandal could be found outside the house, even on the security cameras,” the artist explained.

  “Which meant that the vandal came from inside the house,” Chas nodded. “She seemed so frightened and honest that I didn’t suspect her,” he shook his head, disgusted with himself. He didn’t get fooled very often.

  “I wonder if she set the fires too,” Izzy mumbled.

  “Fires?” Chas asked.

  “Another author friend of mine had her house burned down. They ruled it arson, but never found the culprit. Gen hated her almost as much as she hated me,” she explained quietly.

  “Why did she hate you?” Spencer asked, his eyes fixed on the beauty in front of him.

  “Because my books were more successful than hers. Miranda always gave me the best tour slots and took all of my calls,” Izzy shrugged.

  “And where have you been these last few days, dear lady?” Kel asked.

  Before she could answer, Spencer interjected.

  “She told me that she wanted to get away from it all, so I took her to one of those rental cabins down in the Everglades. Turned out to be a great idea,” he finished hurriedly, as Chas eyed him curiously.

  “You knew that she was alive and well and didn’t say anything,” the detective asked mildly.

  “Didn’t seem prudent at the time, sir,” Spencer replied, his eyes locking on Chas’s.

  Chas nodded.

  CHAPTER 18

  “I can’t believe I invited a stalker and murderer to stay under the same roof where her intended victim was trying to hide out,” Missy dropped her chin into her palm and poked at the fluffy frosting of a coconut cream cupcake.

  She, Echo and Kel were back to having their morning get-togethers at the cupcake shop now that things had settled down a bit at the Inn.

  “You can’t blame yourself,” Echo patted her friend’s hand reassuringly. “We all thought that the stalker was that nasty publisher Miranda.”

  As if her words had conjured the woman, Miranda Banks threw open the front door of Cupcakes in Paradise with sufficient force that the panes of glass rattled.

  “Alright, I’m here, where is she?” the aged redhead demanded.

  Missy, Echo and Kel stared at her open-mouthed.

  “Am I not enunciating well enough for you slow-moving southern folk?” she demanded, jumping a bit when the door opened behind her and Izzy appeared.

  “Well, it’s about time,” she snapped at the young woman, who hugged her anyway. “You’re late as usual. Where’s the manuscript?”

  Izzy strolled over to a table, leading the reluctant publisher by the hand, grinning.

  “The manuscript was emailed to you last night, and you know it,” she replied, seating herself at a bistro table near Missy’s. “I know that you know it, because I could tell that you’ve opened it and reviewed it already. I’ve met my deadline, the book is good, and you have nothing left to shout about, so stop posturing in front of these nice folks and have a darn cupcake,” the tiny author ordered sweetly, a butterfly in the face of a dragon.

  “You’re trying to kill me with sugar, aren’t you?” Miranda narrowed her eyes, but her tone softened…a bit.

  “Die smiling,” Izzy batted her eyes at the old woman, finally making her crack a small smile.

  “Your incorrigible,” the publisher accused.

  “And you’re impossible,” she shot back with a chuckle.

  “When are you returning to New York?” Miranda demanded, eyeing the cupcake and coffee that Missy set in front of her with vague suspicion.

  “Not for a while,” Izzy replied dreamily staring out the window at Spencer, who was planting flowers beside the circular drive. “I kinda like the scenery,” she murmured.

  “Don’t you get distracted young lady. You have deadlines to meet, and the first one that you miss by even a day, I’m going to send henchmen out here to drag you home, you got that?” the publisher shook a bony finger at Izzy, then picked up her cupcake and took a bite, leaving a smear of lipstick in the frosting.