A Sweet Spoonful of Cyanide: A Brightwater Bay Cozy Mystery (book 3)
By Beth Byers, Carolyn L. Dean, and Angela C Blackmoore
A Sweet Spoonful of Cyanide: A Brightwater Bay Cozy Mystery (book 3) is copyright 2018 by Freeform Publishing. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
Dedication:
For Michael
Like the rest of my books, you won’t read this. (Punk) But it’s still for you. Love you, brother.
Table of Contents
A Sweet Spoonful of Cyanide
Dedication:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Author’s Notes
Chapter 1
“Hey, just because I dropped it on the floor doesn’t mean it belongs to you.”
Roscoe looked up at his mistress, feigned innocence in his doggie eyes, a piece of warm toast still hanging out of his mouth.
“You know, you never move as fast as when food falls off the counter,” Claire said. Come on, buddy. Drop it,” she urged her little black and white companion as she put out her hand. She could see the sparkle in his eyes, which meant he was either hoping to play a game of Keep Away or to gulp down the unexpected treat before she made him stop. “I promise I’ll get your breakfast in your bowl and it’ll be much better for you than a piece of bread.”
There was a moment while Roscoe seemed to calculate his options, and then took a step forward and placed the toast in Claire’s hand. She tried to ignore the soggy bit where he’d had it in his mouth, and dropped it in the nearby trashcan.
“Good boy,” she praised him as she opened a can of his favorite squishy food and dumped it into his food dish. “Big day today, so we’d better get off to a good start.”
Face happily buried in his breakfast, Roscoe didn’t hear the deep sigh Claire gave as she poured herself a bowl of cornflakes.
Trying to keep her mind off the weekly challenge she knew she’d have to deal with that day at the bakery, she took a few minutes to look out the window of her little cottage. She still loved waking to the scenic beauty of Brightwater Bay. Coming from Arizona had taught Claire to appreciate the lush green of the Pacific Northwest. It was more beautiful than she’d have thought was possible, especially with the ocean in her view. The sky was uncharacteristically blue and set off the gray of the ocean, the white of the puffy clouds dotting the sky, and the emerald lushness of the fir trees.
Losing her husband had taught Claire to enjoy the little things like coffee, her sweet and devoted dog, and the natural beauty surrounding her. When she’d first arrived and her car had broken down outside town, she had been running from bad memories and the reality of going back to an empty house and a broken heart. Somehow, driving as far from Arizona as she could seemed like the best way to heal the pain she’d gone through over the previous year, but she hadn’t expected to find a whole new life in a brand-new place. Brightwater Bay had been the best surprise she’d ever had.
Brightwater Bay was a little town nestled on the northern Washington coast, right across from the San Juan Islands and had steady tourist traffic from those who were there to experience kayaking around the islands, whale watching, or making their way to the nearby Canadian border. Much of the town was war-era houses and quiet streets lined by antique streetlights and rows of locally-owned shops. There was a slower pace in the little village that calmed Claire’s soul, and she could see why some people couldn’t resist its quaint charm and gorgeous surroundings.
Claire had left behind the faster-paced world in Arizona where she’d worked in accounting, but there was a deep satisfaction in being a baker at the plush Brightwater Bay Resort. The new job and new skills turned out to be exactly what she’d needed, and she’d been fortunate enough to also find a new boyfriend, good friends, and a tidy little home that overlooked the beauty of the town.
Claire’s cottage was something of a relic though it was solid, snug, and warm. Relic or not, she’d much rather live in this ancient home with such astounding beauty outside than back in the too-hot, too-brown, and too-dry offerings of Arizona. She took a moment to close her eyes, take another long sip of hot coffee, and thank whatever angels had been looking over her. It was probably just the feel of the morning and the beauty that made her so introspective. She needed to finish her coffee, dress, and get to work at the bakery.
“All right, Roscoe. I think you’ve licked every last food molecule out of that bowl,” Claire said to her little furry companion. Roscoe wasn’t particularly a fan of early mornings, but he’d gotten used to getting up early and going to the bakery with Claire. He even had a little doggie bed in the back room, away from where the food was being made, so he could keep a protective eye on Claire, his favorite human.
As she left her cottage, her landlady, Daisy, waved from the front porch of her nearby cottage and called out, “Hello, dear. Off to work?”
“Good morning, Daisy,” Claire replied with a broad smile. She gave Roscoe a few minutes to do his business before helping him into her car. “Someone else watching the coffeeshop today?”
Daisy nodded. “Yeah, I hired a new guy named Beau. He’s kinda a granola-hippie sort of guy, but he makes a mean latte. You should try one.”
“I will,” Claire promised. “Need me to bring anything back for your coffee shop? We’re trying out a new raspberry and orange scone and it’s a huge hit.”
Daisy’s laugh rang out and then she admitted, “Sounds great. I just haven’t made anything that beats out what you all make over at the bakery. I’d be happy for whatever you can bring me.”
It was a conversation they had every morning and Claire didn’t mind the repetitiveness of it. Daisy was a good and kind woman, and Claire was happy to make baked goods for the coffee shop especially given that Daisy had worked out a long-term rental deal for Claire. She was a good landlord and was becoming a good friend, too.
Claire climbed into her car after putting Roscoe on his little blanket and waved at her friend. Roscoe put his paws up on the window and looked outside as they wound their way through the town.
The road led her down to Main Street and to the ferry landing. Every time she saw the cars lining up and the foot passengers finding their way to the ticket booth, Claire thought of Scott Bedford. After the death of her husband, Claire hadn’t expected to find another relationship but, to her surprise, she had. Scott worked on the ferries that ran between the cluster of San Juan Islands, and spent most of his free time working on a house he’d designed that he was building on the back acreage of his mother’s farm. As much as he loved architecture, he loved Brightwater Bay more, and was working steadily to get the certifications he’d need to become a ferryboat captain on his own.
The first ferry run of the day wouldn’t take place for another hour, so perhaps Scott was enjoying his own coffee. She’d been more of a tea drinker until it had become a habit to meet up with Scott or her friend Molly for morning coffee, and after a bit she was hooked on the amazing aroma and rich taste.
One of her favorite times of day was when she got to drive to work. Unlike Arizona, the short distance to her day job was uncluttered by other cars and pleasant
, winding through a lush forest. The roads of Brightwater Bay were empty except for wisps of haunting fog that made Claire think of gothic novels from college.
The bakery was housed in the Brightwater Bay Resort, so Claire got to make her way through extravagant hallways with enough man-made beauty to add give her something else to put on her gratitude list. It was lovely to work somewhere so beautiful. She pushed through the swinging doors into the bakery, appreciating the marble counter and tidy display case, already full of freshly-baked goodies. Mrs. Applegate must have already put some cinnamon rolls in the oven, because the smell of sugar, cinnamon, and buttery bread dough was heavy in the air. Her mouth watering, Claire made a note to have a cinnamon roll herself when she took her break, and to pack a few extra for home and friends.
“Good morning, dear,” Mrs. Applegate called as soon Claire walked in the backroom kitchen. Hairnet in place over her carefully-curled hairdo, she was stirring a big batch of batter with both hands. She was a lively lady with an open, happy face and a spring in her step that belied her age. Some people would’ve been planning for retirement at her stage in life, but Claire couldn’t picture her talented employer anywhere other than standing at a running mixer full of cake batter, or handing out free cookies as samples to happy kids at the front counter.
She smiled as Claire situated Roscoe in his little bed. “Did you sleep well?”
Claire grinned and nodded. After months of insomnia, somehow living here had made it possible to sleep deeply again, waking up refreshed and ready to start her day.
“What’s in the bowl?” she asked, and Mrs. Applegate paused to catch her breath.
“German chocolate. I swear, I’m going to have to start putting this stuff on the big mixer. I used to be able to do this myself, for such a small batch, but I’m not getting’ any younger. “You ready to put together Mrs. Park’s cake?” Mrs. Applegate asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
Just the thought made Claire mentally cringe. It was what she’d been dreading all week. “You bet,” Claire said with a forced smile, not wanting to show Mrs. Applegate her true feelings. Every Friday, like clockwork, Mrs. Park picked up a cake. Claire wished she could say baking Mrs. Park’s weekly cake order was a delight, but Mrs. Park wasn’t someone a person enjoyed. Her well-earned reputation for unwarranted criticism and an abrasive nature was an ordeal that Claire absolutely detested.
Claire adjusted her big apron, tied it on, and checked to make sure her hair was back. She loved the song that was playing and danced a bit as she pulled the cooled, wrapped cakes out of the fridge. The plan was to cut each cake layer in half to provide more layers of cake and cream. She had no doubt it would be a delightful concoction and only wished Mrs. Park would enjoy it. The more Claire got to know the woman, however, the more she realized there was very little Mrs. Park did enjoy. Shrugging the dark thought aside, Claire supposed that Mrs. Park’s guests, at least, would enjoy the cake Claire had worked so hard on.
She tried to dwell on the cake and not the customer, and that seemed to help. She enjoyed evening out cake layers, filling them, and then frosting them. There was a certain satisfaction she got from having a cake look perfect, and she often imagined how pleased someone would be when they cut into the layers and took that first bite. This week, Mrs. Park had ordered a cherry almond amaretto cream cake, and it would be beautiful, with slivered almonds pressed into the amaretto frosting. Claire enjoyed smoothing the frosting as the decorating turntable spun. There was something so soothing about holding the frosting spatula still and watching the frosting flatten out perfectly.
Claire took a second to taste the frosting, letting it melt into her mouth and meld with the leftover coffee flavors. Oh, she thought, that’s really good. She’d have to make this cake for her and Scott on one of their date nights. She bet he’d love it.
By the time Claire had finished putting together several cakes, including a carrot raisin cake, a German chocolate cake, and a vanilla cake with raspberry filling, Sandy, the counter girl had arrived. Sandy was chatty and friendly, and better with charming customers than she was with baking. With a cheerful wave at Claire, she started prepping the counter, making sure everything was spotless and in place and that the gleaming display case was stocked.
There were always a few customers who were there just as the doors opened. After all, the bakery was well-known for the goods they created and worth a little drive away from Main Street to get one of their raspberry tarts or bear claws. Especially with someone as talkative and sweet as Sandy was. Add on to that the fact that the girl made a mean coffee and it was apparent why Mrs. Applegate valued her so much.
The morning seemed to fly by, and a few hours later, while Sandy was taking her break, Claire helped out at the front counter. She served up two raspberry tarts and two cinnamon rolls—one with cream cheese frosting and one with caramel—to a family of four who’d mentioned they’d come up from Seattle. They talked about the music museum, Pike’s Place Market, and the Space Needle for a few minutes before another customer, Mr. Monroe, came in. Claire knew exactly what he wanted, and made a large espresso and popped two slices of cinnamon bread in the toaster, all while chatting and asking about his grandchildren.
When Claire had first started working at the bakery she’d been surprised anyone would make the trek for such simple things, but she’d had the cinnamon raisin bread toasted a few times and realized she’d been foolish when she’d first judged James Monroe. Now she enjoyed their daily chats about baseball games, the weather, and the new zip line business another neighbor was endlessly discussing but never finishing.
While she toasted the bread, the door of the bakery slammed open and a little lady with a lion-headed cane and a sour expression entered. Claire tried to hide her flinch as she called out, “Good morning, Mrs. Park. I’ll be right with you.”
So much for a peaceful morning.
Chapter 2
“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Applegate,” Mrs. Park snapped.
Her faded blue eyes were narrowed in anger and locked on Claire’s face. She looked Claire over from top to bottom and her mouth twisted in distaste, as if she’d sucked on a lemon. The wrinkles around Mrs. Park’s face accentuated her scowl while the too-pink lipstick drew attention to the fact that she was having trouble coloring inside the lines. Claire felt a flash of guilt for thinking that, but she also felt rather like a bug who was about to be smashed, so the guilt wasn’t too intense.
Claire pasted a smile on her face and said, “Of course, Mrs. Park. Let me get her.”
“Hurry up,” Mrs. Park snapped, “I don’t have all day for this nonsense. Is my order ready? I have no intention of waiting, so you’ll have to deliver if it isn’t. I expect prompt service. Even from you.”
Claire tried to keep her voice calm, even as she saw Mr. Monroe step sideways to get out of the formidable lady’s way. “We just need to box your cake up, ma’am,” Claire said brightly, trying to include a cheerful smile, but she knew it didn’t go to her eyes not that Mrs. Park would care. “I’ll get Mrs. Applegate for you, and take care of boxing the cake while you speak with her.”
Claire walked to the back of the bakery where Mrs. Applegate was working and said, “Heads up. Mrs. Park would like to speak with you.” She gave a deep sigh. “Again.”
Further explanation wasn’t necessary. Mrs. Applegate frowned for a second, then nodded. They’d both been through this before, and Claire wasn’t in any rush to hurry out with the new cake. It was six layers of almond cake, layered with amaretto cream and maraschino cherries. Slivered almonds covered the top and sides with dollops of whipped cream and more cherries as accents. It would be melt in your mouth good and next week when Mrs. Park came to get her new order, she’d complain about it until she received a discount on her newest special order. It was a weekly ritual, and Claire hated every second of it.
Gertrude Park had only been ordering from the Brightwater Resort Bakery for the last two months. Before that, she’d orde
red from Kiah Cakes, but the baker there finally got fed up and told Mrs. Park to never return. When Claire had heard that, she’d joked with Mrs. Applegate that she should put a resume in at Kiah cakes, but Mrs. Applegate had playfully smacked her on the shoulder and told her there was no way she’d let her go.
“…dry…fall apart…terrible….be ashamed.”
Claire’s eye twitched as the old crow’s voice carried through the bakery. Last week, it had been a sky-high chocolate layer cake with eight layers of cake and a salted caramel cream filling with drizzles of salted caramel. Claire had actually made several. One woman had come in especially to compliment them, and had special ordered a second cake because she couldn’t get the taste of it out of her memory. She said she had woken up tasting it and wanting another slice. The cake was so tempting that Claire had taken one home herself, and it had been stop-the-presses good. She’d had to force herself to stop from eating the whole thing in one sitting, and made herself share it with Scott and Daisy.
Claire placed the new almond cake in a box and put it next to Mrs. Applegate on the front counter, then went to the display case and boxed up several cupcakes that were due to be picked up in the next half hour. The cupcake customer, however, would be pleased with her order, unlike Mrs. Park.
Trying not to hear the old lady’s diatribe, Claire taped the pink pastry box shut. The snide comments about Claire’s ‘unprofessional’ clothes, however, made her want to fling the whole box at Mrs. Park’s head. She had to take a moment to breathe slowly in before she focused on her task again.
A few minutes later, Sandy walked Mrs. Park to her car, dutifully carrying the cake for the woman and pretending to listen as she bad-mouthed everyone at the bakery the entire way. Claire took a second to be glad that Sandy had come back from break just in time to save Claire.
“You’re not thinking of throwing those, are ya?”
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