Bittersweet Betrayal

by Stephanie Damore

  Bittersweet Betrayal

  Spirited Sweets Book 1

  Stephanie Damore

  Pink Sapphire Press

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Thank you!

  About the Author

  Also by Stephanie Damore

  1

  I'm a morning person. I've always been. I don't need coffee in my cup or a ghost's face popping out of my bread dough to get me rising, which is why at 5 AM I stared wide-eyed at the talking head lecturing me on my bread-making skills. You would think my recent experiences with the paranormal would make me an expert at such ghostly encounters, but truth be told, I was far from one.

  "I've never seen bread made this way. With a machine? Tsk tsk. That would never fly in my kitchen," the talking head lectured.

  I blinked a time or two.

  "Where'd you get this recipe? The internet? It's not the London way. No wonder your bakery's in trouble," the head continued.

  At that moment, I couldn’t have cared less about my bakery. I was more concerned with how my husband's grandmother had died and what her head was doing in my bread dough. Not to mention wondering where the rest of her body was. This was a first. Adele's death had to be a recent turn of events. Bleu Clair Bay was a small village. No way had the monarch of the London family met her demise without me getting word of it. I looked around my deserted bakery for its resident ghost, but my dearly departed husband was nowhere to be seen either.

  Great.

  I was definitely having a case of the Mondays.

  I took a deep breath.

  "Mrs. London, I'm sorry to see that you've, uh ... passed." I continued surveying the bakery. Ellen, who was like a mom to me, wouldn't be coming in to lend a hand for another hour or so; until then, it looked like I was on my own. Not that she would've been able to see Adele, but the moral support would've been nice. Adele London hadn't cared for me much in her life and I'd bet she still didn’t like my recipe book, if the bread comment was any indication.

  "Passed? What are you talking about?" Adele looked around and took her herself in, or rather, the lack thereof. I felt her anxiety spike within my own chest. Her energy buzzed, and her image started to pulse like a strobe light.

  "Mrs. London, it's okay." I reached out to her, but her head jerked away from my hand as if it was a fly buzzing toward her. The bread machine kicked up a notch, whizzing louder and angrily throwing the ball of dough inside the bowl. It smacked around the metal bowl—thwack, thwack, thwack—threatening to knock the entire thing off its base. I moved to turn the machine off. Adele misread my movement.

  "Get away from me! What am I even doing here? I don't even like you." Adele's words were cold and cruel. Delivered in death the same as in life, which is why her insult didn't surprise me. How sad is that? She gave me one last stare, a look I could hope to never see again before zapping into the ether. I shivered.

  "Okay, that was weird." And seeing how weird my life was already, that was saying something.

  With Adele gone, I went to the fridge and pulled out a tray of leaf-shaped sugar cookies I had baked the night before. I had debated making snowflakes, but thought I'd wait until after Halloween to go there. Even though it was still October, snow would be flying soon here in northern Michigan, a fact that the locals were excited about. The fall rush was just about over. Snowfall meant a new wave of tourists would be heading up our way, ready to play in our winter wonderland and spend their cash. Without tourists, our village would be toast.

  I put the cookies on the counter and went back to the fridge to retrieve the buttercream frosting. Using a pastry knife, I smoothed a thick layer of the silky orange cream onto one of the cookies and sunk my teeth into it.

  ACK!

  I spit the cookie out into my hand. It tasted absolutely horrid, and what's worse, I had no idea why. Was it the cookie? The frosting? Where did I go wrong? I tossed the cookie in the trash and jogged over to the sink to wash my hands and rinse out my mouth. My problems were much bigger than using a bread machine. Adele was right. No wonder my bakery was in trouble.

  "That good, huh?" Nick's voice purred unnaturally close to my ear. Even from the afterlife, that man could make my heart go pitter patter.

  "I don't know what's happened, but I've lost my touch," I confessed, dabbing my mouth dry on a tea towel. "It's only a matter of time before even Ellen abandons me."

  I nibbled on another cookie and found it to be the most flavorless piece of cardboard ever. Looked like it had been both, the cookie and the frosting. I chucked the rest of the cookies into the trash and looked around at the assortment of baked goods in their various states, praying they weren't all ruined.

  "Come now, Love, it can't be that bad."

  I furrowed my brow as my mind tried to calculate just how bad it was. There was no denying that demand was down—way down. I already didn't have to bake half of my usual assortment since no one had bought a cupcake in a week. A week! Who could resist the temptation of a cupcake? Even the mental image had my mouth watering. This was worse than I thought.

  But then I remembered Adele.

  "Hey babe, so, um, your grandmother was just here." I walked the bowl of frosting over to the sink and scooped it out. I wasn't even going to taste a little bit.

  "What? She was?" From over my shoulder, Nick's transparent image flickered a bit. Sort of like a television when its antenna is on the fritz. "That's odd."

  "You have no idea."

  Nick cocked his head to the side knowing there was more to the story.

  "It was, um ... her ghost that came in," I said as I walked over to where he was standing.

  "What?" Nick's body passed right through mine. The coldness took my breath away and made me take a step back. I smacked my head from the temporary brain freeze.

  Nick's eyes were wide. "Sorry. I didn't mean ..." I waved his concern away.

  He looked around. "Is she still here?"

  "Not anymore, and she wasn't happy to be here when she was." I gave Nick a knowing stare.

  "I bet." His grandmother's personality hadn't escaped his notice, even though he had been her favorite.

  Nick's expression drifted off, and I knew he wanted to run off and check out things on his end. "Just let me know what you find out. Won't you?" I asked.

  "You don't mind?" Nick replied.

  "No, of course not." Truth be told, I was pretty curious myself. As far as I knew, Adele London had been as healthy as a horse, or maybe it was a mule. A stubborn, bossy mule.

  "Okay, I'll be back shortly. I'll let you know what I find out." Nick started to fade away, before his appearance brightened once more. "Hey, chin up, buttercup. I always loved your cookies." I tried to smile, but it was half-hearted at best. Nick threw in a wink and then popped out of existence. All that was left was a little blue orb floating off through the front of the bakery. I assumed once outside, he'd take a left down Cherry Street and head along the coast to London Manor.

  I sighed and looked around the bakery once more. Ellen had painted a festive fall scene on the front windows—a maple tree dropping its gorgeous red and yellow leaves with a group of smiling jack-o-lanterns sitting beside it, their grins painted a bright yellow as if lit from within. Inside, the white and black checkered floor gleamed like the display cases up front with fall garland sprawled across them—also Ellen's doing. Everything was festive and welcoming. Now if only my baking could live up to it.

  That was no way to think, I scolded myself. I should be lifting myself up, not beating myself down. After all, this m
orning would be big. Even if my baked goods had started to earn a bad reputation, the locals would still be flocking here to gossip about Adele's death. I figured the locals would stop here or down the street at Carol's Bar, and I couldn't see the church's women's guild meeting up at the local watering hole to talk about Adele's demise.

  I had to be ready. Was redemption best served hot or cold? I wasn't sure. I crossed my fingers and turned my attention to my once-famous cinnamon rolls. I prayed they were stellar and you could bet that they'd be iced to impress.

  By mid-morning I was ready to send Ellen home and close up shop for the day. Three customers stopped in … three! Two were out-of-towners trying to fill their tummies before hitting up the wine tour, and the third was Pastor Thompson stopping in for a hot cup of coffee before heading into church. I wasn't about to ask him about Adele.

  I was bored, or maybe it was borderline depression I felt. Either way, it was downright disappointing. With nothing else to do, I baked, filling the mixer bowl with fresh sugar cookie ingredients, careful to measure everything just so. At one point, I hadn't bothered with measuring cups. I had eyeballed everything, and my cookies turned out perfect. Now, that just wasn't the case.

  "Nobody knows," Nick said by way of greeting.

  "What do you mean?" I asked, stopping the mixer so I could better hear what he was saying.

  "What? What's he saying?" Ellen asked from the floor. She was busy cleaning the tile floor's grout with a toothbrush but assumed it was Nick I was talking with. I held my finger up to silence her.

  "Her body's downstairs lying on the parlor room floor."

  "Oh my goodness, how awful. Nick. I'm so sorry." This was the awkward part of your husband being a ghost. You couldn't very well give him a hug. Words were all we had left.

  Nick shrugged as if to say there's nothing that could be done. I relayed the message to Ellen.

  "Oh Nick, no wonder she's upset," Ellen replied.

  Then I thought of something. I wasn't exactly sure how to word my question. "Is she, ah ... is she all in one piece?"

  "I think so, why?" Nick asked hesitantly.

  "It's just, well, only her head visited me this morning."

  Nick's eyes went wide again.

  "You didn't tell me that!" Ellen exclaimed.

  "Sorry," I said, waving my hands apologetically. "I didn't think you guys wanted to know that earlier. I was just trying to figure out how she did that. Thought maybe, you know, it wasn't connected."

  Nick stared at me, freezing the way only the dead could.

  Look at me, shocking a ghost. Who would've ever thought?

  "Well, that's upsetting." Ellen fussed with the button of her blouse closest to her neck. It was a nervous gesture.

  "Anyway," I continued, "it doesn't matter. Can you find her?" My question was directed to Nick. I wasn't sure how that exactly worked.

  "Maybe. I don't know if she's here or if she’s taken the golden elevator to the top. You haven't seen her since?" he asked.

  "No. In fact, it's been a little quiet around here." Too quiet. I tried not to let that fact depress me once more. Ellen stood and walked to the front of the house, pretending to busy herself by stocking the already pristine coffee bar. At least the villagers hadn't known about Adele. I took some small comfort in that. There was still a chance business would pick up once they found out, and I'd have that shot at dazzling them with my cinnamon rolls after all.

  Nick was looking at me expectantly.

  "What?" I asked, not understanding where his expression was going.

  "I can't just leave her there on the floor. Who knows when someone will find her? It's not like she had a packed social calendar."

  A fact that would be her fault, I wanted to remind my husband.

  My expression gave my thoughts away.

  "Claire!" Nick chastised me.

  I threw my hands up in the air. "Well, what do you want me to do?"

  "Call it in."

  "And say what exactly? That I know Adele London is dead in her parlor? How do you think that would play out? People already think I'm strange walking around talking to myself all the time. "

  Nick gave me a look that said I had a point, but then again, I knew this was important to him. I thought about it some more. "I suppose I could call your parents or even your uncle, tell them I haven't seen Adele in a while. Pretend that I'm a bit concerned." Of course, that wasn't entirely believable either. It wasn't that I wasn't a nice person, it's just that's how unbearable Adele could be. I tried to stop in once a season, usually making a point at the holidays and around her and Nick's birthday, which was the same day, and come to think of it, next week. This time of year was always difficult for the family. Heck, it was hard on me and I lived with his ghost every day. That didn't mean Adele appreciated my visits. If Nick wasn't still around, I'm not sure I would've made the effort at all. It was amazing that the woman could be so kind and sweet to my husband and be so cool and mean-spirited toward everyone else. Even her own children rarely visited, and one of them—Charles and his wife, Becky—lived in town. Then again, I did not want to cause anymore grief for Nick's family. Not that the car accident that had taken Nick's life had been my fault, but Nick's mom still couldn't look me in the eye. I wasn't sure either of his parents would ever move on from their only child's death.

  "What about your sister?” Nick asked. “She's a cop."

  Deputy Autumn Sinclair. "She'd probably be the first one to bring me in for questioning. We both know Autumn doesn't have the most open mind." Autumn had no idea that I could now see spirits. Mediums ranked right up there with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny as far as she was concerned.

  "What about Margaret? Does she still work for her?" I knew the plump, petite housekeeper had said for years she was quitting, but as far as I knew, she was still employed by Adele, and she lived just a block away.

  "Good thinking. Maybe she'll be heading over there soon," Nick replied.

  I made a face.

  "What?" Ellen said, rejoining us.

  "Well, Nick and I were just talking about Adele and her housekeeper. I hate to send the woman over there knowing what's in store."

  "Someone's got to find the woman, dear." Leave it to Ellen to be the practical one.

  "True ..." But I still wasn't sure.

  "She lives off Maple, right?" Nick asked.

  "Yes, just about a block away. The grayish bungalow. Bright red mailbox."

  "Let me pop over there and see if she's home," Nick offered.

  "Okay, good idea." Once again, I relayed to Ellen what Nick was up to.

  I let out a breath after he left.

  "That woman always was a pain in the butt. Looks like her death isn't going to be any different," Ellen replied.

  "Ellen!" I said with a laugh.

  I barely had time to turn the mixer back on when Nick popped back in.

  "That was fast," I said.

  "You’ve got to come quick. Something's up with Margaret. She's skipping town!"

  "What? She's leaving?" If Nick could have dragged me out of the bakery, he would've. I opened the shop's back door and hollered behind me. "Watch the shop, will you? I need to run to Margaret's."

  "Be safe, dear," Ellen shouted after me. I realized I still had my apron on when I stepped outside. The cold northern air whipped through my hair and sent a chill down my spine, making me almost as cold as it did when Nick walked through me. Oh yeah, it would be snowing soon. I popped back inside, hung the apron up and switched it out for my fleece windbreaker—the flour on my jeans couldn't be helped—and headed up the block to Margaret's.

  2

  Nick was right. When I got there, Margaret was busy loading up her car and getting out of dodge. Margaret's head was buried in the backseat of her rather old dark-green sedan. From the rear window, I could see it was packed with boxes, trash bags, and a suitcase or two. It looked like she was trying to rearrange things, perhaps make room to add even more. From the looks of it, she was
n't getting too far. Whenever she moved one box, a trash bag slid down and took up the space.

  "Margaret?" I stood back by the trunk. Nick's orb buzzed next to me like an angry bee. He had told me before that it was hard to maintain a physical image for long. Orbs were much easier.

  Margaret stood with a start. It was a good thing she was short as she just missed hitting her head on the car's frame.

  "You scared me to death." Margaret slapped her hand on her heart. Her long, silver braid swayed down her back.

  "Sorry. I was just surprised to see you packing up. Is everything okay?" I pointed to her full car.

  "Yes and no, I suppose. Going down state for a bit. My daughter's pregnant again and it's not agreeing with her. She needs some help watching her little boy. He’s a trouble maker. Cute, but trouble. Heaven knows that husband of hers is no help."

  "Oh, does Adele know?"

  Margaret's face blushed and she stumbled over her words.

  "I ... well ... I gave her my notice yesterday." Margaret kept it at that. Did she know Adele was dead?

  I pressed on. "Bet she loved that."

  "No, she didn't." Margaret swatted Nick's orb away.

  "What did she say?"

  Margaret huffed. "Well, if you must know, she was a nasty old bat. True Adele, through and through. I'm just sorry her grandson had to hear all that."

  It was my turn to blink a few times. Nick had been the only grandson who lived in town. Could Margaret see ghosts?

  "Can you see me?" Nick asked, taking his full from. While I looked at Nick, Margaret stared right through him.

  "Grandson?" I mumbled.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry, dear." Margaret touched my arm in a comforting gesture. "I meant Andrew. He's staying with her."

  "He is? I had no idea he was in town." I wondered what in the world would call him back home?