The glass breaking had been a vase that Ronnie had bumped over while forcing her into her armchair. He’d planned on coercing her banking details out of her before murdering her. Whether he would’ve claimed the life insurance policy after all of that was a question we didn’t need an answer to, thankfully.
“How did you do that, Rubes?” Bee asked, as we waited to give our statements to the police. “Have you secretly been working out when I wasn’t looking?”
“No,” I laughed. “It’s not about strength, it’s a specific hold that uses the opponent’s weight against them and gets you into a comfortable position to keep them in place for a long time. Thankfully, Ronnie’s quite weak so it wasn’t a struggle. If he’d been any stronger, I would’ve been out of luck.”
“Well, you have to teach me how to do that,” Bee said. “It beats rolling around on the floor trying to keep from being strangled.” She gestured to her neck.
“Are you OK?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Can’t say the same for Violet, though. Poor woman.”
We watched as Ronnie was driven off in the back of a police car, glowering at us. Another case solved, and Muffin peaceful again.
There was only one more thing I had to do before I’d be satisfied that we could lay this mystery to rest…
19
I tapped my manicured fingernails on the table in front of the windows in the Nodding Frond café, my heart skipping a beat each time the door opened and another person entered.
You have to relax.
I brought out my phone and checked the time. Jamie was a half an hour late for our meeting, and I couldn’t help but think he’d stood me up. I wouldn’t blame him. I’d been terrible over the past week or two. I’d practically accused him of murdering his grandmother when he’d been dealing with her passing all on his own.
He’s not coming. I sent the message to Bee. I should probably just leave.
My phone pinged with her reply. Don’t be ridiculous, Holmes. He’ll come.
It’s been a half an hour!
“Hello.” The warm, melted chocolate voice spoke next to my table.
I squirreled my phone away and turned to meet Hanson. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a gray t-shirt that fit him just right. His blond hair was ruffled, a casual bedhead look, and the undersides of his eyes were dominated by dark semi-circles.
He’d had a rough time, and I’d made that worse.
“Hi,” I said, and got up. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Right. Yeah. Sorry I’m late,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Things have been busy, what with organizing Moira’s affairs and everything.”
“Of course, yeah.” An awkward quiet followed, broken by the chatter of other diners, knives and forks on plates. “Please join me,” I said, gesturing to the chair opposite mine.
Hanson sat down and I did too, my nerves building. “Why did you want to meet up?” he asked. “Not going to lie, I figured you’d never want to talk to me again after our last conversation.”
“That’s actually what I wanted to chat about,” I said, clearing my throat. “I owe you a massive apology. I should never have treated you the way I did. I was afraid that you were the one who had hurt Moira.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes,” I said, bowing my head and fiddling with my water glass. “You know, because, well… I don’t know how to explain it, but I behaved terribly. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If not, I’ll totally understand. I just hoped we could be friends, that’s all.”
“Friends?” Hanson laughed. “Ruby, it’s my fault too. I didn’t tell you the whole truth about me when I arrived in Muffin.”
I didn’t know how to reply to that.
“I wasn’t fired from my job,” Hanson said, “I left voluntarily because of an awkward situation at work. My ex-wife was working dispatch, and I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to stay in the same workspace anymore, especially since she was getting remarried.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be. I should have been upfront after my grandmother was attacked, but I was worried I’d be a suspect and that it would tarnish my reputation. Moira and I weren’t particularly close, but I wanted to rekindle what relationship we’d had and that’s why I came out here.” He tugged on his collar. “Of course, the added bonus was that I’d get to see you.”
“Me.” My cheeks heated. “What?”
“Yeah. I told you I’d come visit.” He put a hand on top of mine. “You probably don’t know this, Ruby, but I did like you. A lot.”
“Oh. No, I didn’t know. I didn’t realize.” I could barely breathe, let alone think. He liked me? Bee had said as much but I hadn’t believed it. How could it be true after what had happened with Daniel? Rejection like that stuck with a person.
“Well, I did like you until you made it clear you weren’t interested.” But he hadn’t taken his hand off mine yet.
“I am interested.” Mortifying! I hadn’t said anything like that in years. “I mean, yes, I—I was afraid we couldn’t be friends because of how I acted.”
“I don’t want to be friends.”
“Oh.”
“Ruby, I’d like to go on a date with you when this is all cleared up,” Hanson said. “Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”
I sucked in a breath and forced myself to think clearly. It wasn’t like he was proposing, he was just asking me on a date. The last time that had happened it had ended in disaster. “Yes,” I said. “I mean, yeah, I would love to go on a date with you.”
“Awesome,” he said. “And apology accepted by the way. I understand you were just trying to do the right thing.”
“Thanks. Well, yeah. OK.” I couldn’t help being awkward.
“So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at eight. Sound good?” Hanson asked.
“That’s great,” I squeaked.
“See you then.” Hanson left me sitting dumbfounded at the table in the café.
I’d started the week expecting nothing but time on the food truck with my bestie and wound up embroiled in another murder investigation, solving a case, and getting myself a date with a man who was, frankly, too handsome to be allowed.
A slow smile spread on my face. What a week. I couldn’t wait for what the next one would bring.
Ruby and Bee’s adventures continue in book 10 of the Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery series, Murder by Rainbow Cake. Simply turn the page!
Book 10: Murder by Rainbow Cake
Meet the Characters
Ruby Holmes: The owner of the Bite-sized Bakery Food Truck, she’s friendly but always on the move because she doesn’t want to settle down in one place. She’s squeamish, curious, and used to be an investigative journalist.
Beatrice (Bee) Pine: Ruby’s best friend and the baking genius who whips up the treats on the truck. She was a police officer and is incurably inquisitive. When there’s murder or mystery afoot, she’s the first one on the case.
Mrs. Rickleston: The owner of the Runaway Inn in Muffin, Massachusetts. An elderly woman with a grudge against a local nail technician, she’s sweet and salty rolled into one.
Detective Jamie Hanson: A detective the duo met at the Tomahawk Trail Campgrounds—he’s just inherited a large sum of money and is very interested in getting to know Ruby better.
Detective Wilkes: The detective who handles many of the cases in Muffin and who’s often suspicious of how Ruby and Bee behave. He’s a good cop and always trying to do the right thing.
Lucy Cornwall: Nail technician at the Hashtag Nailed It salon in Muffin. She’s spunky, with streaks of purple in her hair and an ‘out-there’ sense of style. She’s always ready for a gossip session.
1
“I don’t think I’ve seen you this nervous,” Bee said, wielding my brush and pointing it at me in the mirror. “You’ve got to relax. He’s just a guy and this is just a date.”
&nb
sp; I scrutinized my reflection, trying not to focus on what was to come. “I’m fine,” I said. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself. A part of me still thinks it’s some kind of mistake or that he’s… not really interested?”
“Well, if Hanson wasn’t interested, he’s got a real strange way of showing it,” Bee replied. “Asking you out, fawning over you—”
“He hasn’t fawned over me,” I replied. “Maybe I should call this off. It’s been a stressful few weeks.”
“No way!” Bee ran the brush through my should-length chestnut brown hair then set the brush on the dressing table in my room in the Runaway Inn. “You deserve to go out tonight and have a lovely time with that hunk of a man.”
“Bee,” I said, checking myself out in the knee-length summery dress I’d put on. “He’s more than just a hunk. Try not to objectify him.”
“I’m not objectifying him. I’m just appreciating his natural manliness.” She wiggled her silver eyebrows at me then checked her watch. “Anyway, you’ve got to get out of here or you’re going to be late. For that very important date. I’ll walk down with you.”
I didn’t tell her she should stay up here. I needed the moral support.
It might’ve been silly, but I hadn’t had a date in ages. The last time hadn’t exactly gone well, what with the dead body and all. And before that ‘event’ was just a chasm of time and loneliness.
We headed downstairs to the lobby and found it empty except for Mrs. Rickleston. The owner of the inn sat at her reception desk, a magazine open in front of her, but her gaze flickering to the archway that led into the dining area.
“Good evening, dears,” she said. “Ready for dinner?”
“Ruby’s got a date,” Bee replied. “But I’ll be enjoying whatever sumptuous meal your chefs have prepared tonight.”
“There’s beef schnitzel on the menu.” Mrs. Rickleston rose and peered into the dining room, clasping her hands together.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Who are you looking at?” I followed her gaze and found a crowd of women gathered around one of the tables, gripping notepads and pens.
“Guess who’s here?” Mrs. Rickleston hissed, now wringing her hands and squirming on the spot. “Oh, you’ll never guess. It’s so exciting I can barely contain myself.”
“Is it the president of the town council?” Bee asked, flatly. We’d found out Mrs. Rickleston happened to be that man’s biggest fan.
“No, no, of course not.” Mrs. Rickleston circled the polished walnut reception desk and took hold of my arm. “You’re not going to believe it, but Drake Haynes is staying at the Runaway.”
“Who’s Drake—?”
Bee’s excitable squeak cut me off. It was such a strange noise coming from her that I lost my words. My friend, the stoic, had come over flustered. She did an impersonation of Mrs. Rickleston, wringing her hands and swapping her weight from one foot to the other.
“Who’s Drake Haynes?” I repeated.
“Ruby,” Bee breathed. “How can you not know who Drake Haynes is? He’s like the Frank Sinatra of our time.”
“And even more handsome,” Mrs. Rickleston put in. “Dark hair, swarthy and charming.” She let out a girlish squeak too, clapping her hands together. “And he thanked me for running such a lovely inn. He said he didn’t want to stay at the motel and that mine was the only guesthouse in Muffin worth visiting.”
“That’s nice,” I said.
“Nice? Nice! It’s more than nice, it’s fantastic.” Mrs. Rickleston’s gray hair quivered. If she wasn’t careful, she’d pop from the excitement. “He’s a celebrity, and he’s here, in Muffin.”
“What’s he doing here?” Bee craned her neck to catch a glimpse of him, though she probably couldn’t see anything past Drake Haynes’ crowd of fans.
“He’s on tour,” Mrs. Rickleston said. “Apparently, he’s visiting all the smaller towns in the state because he knows how many fans he has here and that not all of us can get out to one of the cities to watch his shows.”
Bee swooned. She actually swooned. “When is the show? Ruby, we have to go see him. You’re going to love the way he sings. I swear, once you’ve gone to a Drake Haynes concert, everything will pale in comparison. It’s like his singing colors the world and without it…”
“Sapped of its luster.” Mrs. Rickleston nodded furiously.
“Right,” I said. “I guess we’ll go see him then.”
“You guess! You mean you’re sure. When is the concert?” Bee directed the question at Mrs. Rickleston.
A clamor broke out, and we all turned to watch Mr. Haynes emerge from the dining area followed by an entourage of women of every age. I had to admit, Mrs. Rickleston was right about him being smooth.
He wore his hair slicked back and dark, and his eyebrows were two sharp ticks above dark and broody eyes. His lips were redder than they should’ve been, and he flashed first Bee and then me a confident smile. Drake wore a suit, his tie loose around his neck, his hands tucked into his pockets and his posture slouched—a total cool cat.
“Good evening, ladies,” he crooned. “Are you guests of this fine establishment as well?”
“Y-y-ye-lo,” Bee whimpered.
“She means we are,” I replied. “Guests. Nice to meet you. I’m Ruby, and this is my friend Bee.”
“Pleasure is all mine.” He swept my hand into his and placed a kiss on the back of it then did the same with Bee. Thankfully, she didn’t pass out on the spot. She’d gone catatonic instead and stared at him wordlessly.
“I hope you lovely ladies will attend my concert tomorrow night? There are still tickets available,” he said, affecting a relaxed pose while women hovered and tittered and orbited.
“Sure,” I said. “Probably. If we have time.”
“We’ll be there!” Bee practically screeched it.
If Drake had been assaulted by the decibel level, he didn’t show it, and simply gave Bee another of his white-toothed grins. “That’s great,” he said, in an accent that brought Brooklyn to mind. “Real great. I’d be happy to see you there. Listen, I’m gonna head out for the evening though. A night with the missus.”
“You’re married?” Bee yelled the question.
I took hold of her arm and squeezed. Hopefully, it would relax her a little. Or snap her back to reality.
“Not married, no, just dating,” Drake laughed.
The women gave a collective sigh of disappointment.
A figure appeared on the inn’s threshold, and Drake clapped his hands together. “Ah, here she is now.”
Lucy, our friend from the nail salon, entered the Runaway Inn, the purple streaks in her hair glinting. She was dressed to kill in a black cocktail number and dramatic makeup, and she blushed the minute she laid eyes on Drake.
“There you are,” he said, and swept her into an embrace.
Mrs. Rickleston made a noise like a choking donkey.
“Hey baby.” Lucy swooned just as much as Bee had.
“B-baby?” Mrs. Rickleston continued with the honking noise. “Baby?”
Everyone looked over at her.
“Baby?” Mrs. Rickleston thundered.
“Is there a problem?” Drake asked, his perfect brow trying to wrinkle but not quite getting there.
“Yes, there’s a problem. That woman…” Mrs. Rickleston pointed at Lucy, her stubby-nailed index finger shaking. “That woman is not allowed in my inn.”
“What? Why not?” Drake asked.
“It’s complicated,” I said. “Mostly to do with the wrong color nail polish.”
“Nail polish?”
“It’s more than just nail polish!” Mrs. Rickleston cried. “She’s out to sabotage me and this is just another attempt. Well, I won’t stand for it. I will not let you besmirch the name of my establishment by bringing this trollop here.”
“Trollop!” Lucy jerked forward. “Listen, you crazy old bat, you’d better watch your mouth before I—”
“Out!” Mrs. R
ickleston shouted. “Both of you get out. You’re not welcome in my inn.”
“You’re kicking me out?” Drake scoffed. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Get out of my inn before I call the cops and have you removed.” Mrs. Rickleston breathed like a winded rhinoceros. “Now.”
Drake and Lucy gaped at Mrs. Rickleston like she’d lost her mind. I didn’t blame them. Having a celebrity staying at the Runaway Inn was a big deal. She was throwing that away over a nail polish feud.
“Fine,” Drake shrugged. “My manager will come by to grab my things.” He looped a too cool to care arm around Lucy’s shoulders and walked her out of the inn.
The women who’d been following him all groaned or sighed and started dispersing back to their rooms or the dining area or library. But Mrs. Rickleston? She didn’t move a muscle, simply stared out of the front doors, her eyes steely.
2
After the excitement of Drake Haynes and his fantastic expulsion from the Runaway Inn, I’d nearly forgotten my nerves about my date with Jamie. The handsome ex-detective picked me up on the porch about five minutes after the celebrity and Lucy had disappeared into the sunset.
Jamie wore a pair of jeans and a tight-fitting t-shirt, paired with a leather jacket. His blond hair was parted and styled, and he was clean-shaven, his cologne spiced with a hint of amber.
“You look lovely,” he said, and took me into his arms. He kissed me once on the cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to go out with me this evening.”
“Thanks for asking,” I managed. “And you look good too, by the way.”
“Gee thanks. I try to scrub up nice, but I never know if I’ve pulled it off.” He offered me his arm, and I took it.
It was surreal being guided down the front steps of the inn and toward… “Whoa!” I gasped. “Is that your car?”
“This old thing?” It was a Porsche—silver and fancy and probably worth more than the food truck. Jamie laughed at the look on my face. “This was Moira’s car. She left it to me along with her estate, money and just about everything she owned.”
Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set 2 Page 33