Rum Cake Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 8 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) by Carol Durand, Summer Prescott Page A
Authors: Carol Durand, Summer Prescott
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began.
“Smithville?” Missy interrupted. “That’s where Ben said that he ended up on the night of the murder.”
“I’m aware,” Chas nodded, amused. “So, apparently, the sergeant on duty received a call this afternoon about an abandoned car. One of the locals had gone duck hunting on his land, and stumbled upon a car that got stuck in the swamp. They ran the plates and found out that the car belonged to Stanley Conner. The boys over in Smithville knew that we’d been investigating the murder of Stanley Conner, so they secured a perimeter and called us. My guys went out there and found footprints, hairs in the trunk that look to be a match for Ben’s hair, and hairs on the driver’s seat that don’t look to be a match with Stanley Conner.”
“What does that mean,” Missy asked, eyes wide.
“Well, we figure that whoever killed Stanley, did it in his car, outside of the hotel. Looking for a way to hide the body, they conveniently stumbled upon a man in a clown costume and knocked him out, stealing the costume. Ben was dragged out and stuffed into the trunk, and Stanley was dressed in the costume and staged in the break room, giving the killer time to drive away in Stanley’s car. The killer dumped Ben in the park, while he was still unconscious, then drove to the swamp to ditch the car, abandoning it when it got stuck. The footprints around the car had to be those of the killer, aside from the ones made by the duck hunter who found it.”
“Wow! I knew it! I knew Ben was innocent!” Missy exclaimed, tears of joy in her eyes. “And if it happened the way that you said it did, Cheryl couldn’t have done it either, because she wouldn’t have been strong enough to drag Ben’s body into the trunk or Stanley’s body into the hotel.”
“Exactly,” Chas nodded, impressed with her deduction.
“So now all you have to do is find who the real killer is,” she observed.
“Actually, I’ll need to go over the reports from the lab, but I believe that we’ve already found the killer,” Chas admitted.
“Really? How?”
“There was a very thick file folder tucked underneath the liner of the trunk which contained a wealth of very incriminating information. As it turns out, Stanley Conner had come to town because he was blackmailing Dr. Bernard Radcliffe Aston,” he revealed.
“Blackmailing him? About what?” Missy was astonished.
“Apparently, Stanley knew about Aston’s past, and his ability to…eliminate people when necessary. The two had made a pact to kill Cheryl’s mother, but, halfway through the process, while she was still in a coma and able to be saved, Stanley got cold feet and tried to talk Aston out of doing it. Aston had tasted the thrill of death before, and nothing was going to deter him from the task at hand. Stanley collected the insurance money and the two agreed to keep the cause of death a secret, but when an investigation began, Aston accused Stanley of the crime, nearly getting him indicted. Stanley held a grudge from that moment forward, and when he ran out of insurance money, he planned to blackmail Aston.
There were copies of emails between the two, which culminated in a plan to meet at the hotel during the function so that Aston could pay him off. The autopsy report showed that Stanley was given a lethal injection combined with a sedative, in the left side of his neck and that the needle was at an angle consistent with someone standing outside the car and reaching in to give the injection.”
“So, Dr. Aston is a serial killer?” Missy asked, horrified.
“So it would seem,” Beckett nodded. “While I was going over the evidence, I got a very strange call from Cheryl. I went to the hospital to pick her up, and she refused to leave Ben’s room, but she handed me a series of syringes that she had collected from the trash when Aston would leave the room late at night. Bernard Aston had been coming into Ben’s room every night to give him a dose of meds that
“Smithville?” Missy interrupted. “That’s where Ben said that he ended up on the night of the murder.”
“I’m aware,” Chas nodded, amused. “So, apparently, the sergeant on duty received a call this afternoon about an abandoned car. One of the locals had gone duck hunting on his land, and stumbled upon a car that got stuck in the swamp. They ran the plates and found out that the car belonged to Stanley Conner. The boys over in Smithville knew that we’d been investigating the murder of Stanley Conner, so they secured a perimeter and called us. My guys went out there and found footprints, hairs in the trunk that look to be a match for Ben’s hair, and hairs on the driver’s seat that don’t look to be a match with Stanley Conner.”
“What does that mean,” Missy asked, eyes wide.
“Well, we figure that whoever killed Stanley, did it in his car, outside of the hotel. Looking for a way to hide the body, they conveniently stumbled upon a man in a clown costume and knocked him out, stealing the costume. Ben was dragged out and stuffed into the trunk, and Stanley was dressed in the costume and staged in the break room, giving the killer time to drive away in Stanley’s car. The killer dumped Ben in the park, while he was still unconscious, then drove to the swamp to ditch the car, abandoning it when it got stuck. The footprints around the car had to be those of the killer, aside from the ones made by the duck hunter who found it.”
“Wow! I knew it! I knew Ben was innocent!” Missy exclaimed, tears of joy in her eyes. “And if it happened the way that you said it did, Cheryl couldn’t have done it either, because she wouldn’t have been strong enough to drag Ben’s body into the trunk or Stanley’s body into the hotel.”
“Exactly,” Chas nodded, impressed with her deduction.
“So now all you have to do is find who the real killer is,” she observed.
“Actually, I’ll need to go over the reports from the lab, but I believe that we’ve already found the killer,” Chas admitted.
“Really? How?”
“There was a very thick file folder tucked underneath the liner of the trunk which contained a wealth of very incriminating information. As it turns out, Stanley Conner had come to town because he was blackmailing Dr. Bernard Radcliffe Aston,” he revealed.
“Blackmailing him? About what?” Missy was astonished.
“Apparently, Stanley knew about Aston’s past, and his ability to…eliminate people when necessary. The two had made a pact to kill Cheryl’s mother, but, halfway through the process, while she was still in a coma and able to be saved, Stanley got cold feet and tried to talk Aston out of doing it. Aston had tasted the thrill of death before, and nothing was going to deter him from the task at hand. Stanley collected the insurance money and the two agreed to keep the cause of death a secret, but when an investigation began, Aston accused Stanley of the crime, nearly getting him indicted. Stanley held a grudge from that moment forward, and when he ran out of insurance money, he planned to blackmail Aston.
There were copies of emails between the two, which culminated in a plan to meet at the hotel during the function so that Aston could pay him off. The autopsy report showed that Stanley was given a lethal injection combined with a sedative, in the left side of his neck and that the needle was at an angle consistent with someone standing outside the car and reaching in to give the injection.”
“So, Dr. Aston is a serial killer?” Missy asked, horrified.
“So it would seem,” Beckett nodded. “While I was going over the evidence, I got a very strange call from Cheryl. I went to the hospital to pick her up, and she refused to leave Ben’s room, but she handed me a series of syringes that she had collected from the trash when Aston would leave the room late at night. Bernard Aston had been coming into Ben’s room every night to give him a dose of meds that
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