A Pie to Die For
A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery
Stacey Alabaster
Contents
Copyright
Message to Readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Thank You!
Copyright © 2016 Fairfield Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
I let out a little squeal as I brushed the foul, winged creature aside. "Not today buddy, not today!" I watched it intently as it flew away, a tiny black dot disappearing into the fall sky, and was glad that I hadn't needed to swat the poor thing. I heaved a sigh of relief as I took the lids off my desserts and a sweet cloud of vanilla, chocolate, and coffee bean, all mixed together, hit my nostrils.
That was the danger of serving food outdoors: flies. I was hoping that I'd seen the last of them for the day. Normally, I had my cakes and pastries sequestered safely away in my bakery, Rachael's Boutique Cakes. But today, being outside was a necessary evil. It was the annual Belldale Street Fair and it was my last chance to show the town that my cakes were worth stopping for, my last chance to save my failing bakery and keep from being served an eviction notice.
My fingers trembled as I removed the last of the lids and rearranged the decorations on my stall. I'd chosen a pink and white theme for the day and I piled cupcakes and macaroons high on a cute little pink cake stand, trying not to drop them with my shaking hands. Meanwhile, I watched the numerous employees of the Bakermatic food tent set up their factory made cakes with soldier-like intensity. My stomach dropped as I saw a sign go up with "Free Samples" written on it.
I glanced at my own price tags. How was I ever going to compete with free samples? Slowly, I reached over and, with a black marker, slashed my prices in half.
It was going to be a long day.
* * *
Midday. Three hours into the fair and I'd had a total of four customers. Meanwhile, the Bakermatic tent a hundred feet away was bursting at the seams with people trying to claim their free samples, which never seemed to run out.
Maybe I should just pack up and take the cakes back to the store.
I saw a figure out of the corner of my eye waddling towards the stall.
Oh no, not this woman, I thought. The lady, middle-aged with cat-eyed spectacles and a streak of pink in the front of her otherwise brown hair, only ever seemed to come into my bakery for the sole purpose of tutting and telling me that my cakes were twice the price of the cakes and pastries that Bakermatic sold.
"But that's because mine are twice as good." I would try to reason with her, only to be met with a sharp lift of her eyebrows.
"I use quality ingredients. And I pay my staff a proper wage." After I would tell her that, I'd lean back with my arms crossed over my chest. She could hardly argue with paying people—students, single mothers—a living wage, right? Wrong. She always tutted and stuck up her nose before informing me, loudly, that she was going to take her business to Bakermatic instead. "I can get a coffee AND a cupcake there for the price of just a cupcake here!"
And it seemed like half the town followed her. Every day, more and more customers chose their low prices over my painfully handcrafted selection of cookies, cupcakes, and pastries. Thus the ever growing pile of bills on my kitchen table. And I thought going into business for myself at age twenty-five was going to be glamorous.
Now she was here. I bristled as she approached with bull-like intensity, her eyes focused on my table, waiting for her to cast more disparaging comments. She pointed to a fresh baked pie on my table. "I'll have a slice of that."
My face stretched into a wide smile. "Really?"
Her coin purse paused in midair. "Are you trying to turn away a customer?"
"No, of course not! Just surprised that you would want a piece of my pie. What with Bakermatic giving away free samples down the road."
She screwed her face up. "Don't worry! I'll be sampling theirs as well!" She threw my pie a look of disdain. "It's for my food blog. I've got to try something from every stall. So don't go getting a big head, thinking that I'd choose you over them!"
Of course not. "Your blog?" I watched eagerly as she sampled my pie. "Well, surely you'll have to give my pie a better review than Bakermatic's, despite the price. Mine are fresh, made from all local ingredients, all hand-made every day."
She cut me off and slammed the plate down on the table before scribbling something in her notebook. "I will be taking cost into account as well, don't you worry about that, young lady. I still don't know how you can get away with charging an arm and a leg for this!"
She picked up her piece of pie with disdain and walked away—heading straight for the Bakermatic stand. I stood there with my mouth hanging open before I remembered I was supposed to be attracting customers, not repelling them. I tightened my apron and put on my brightest smile as a man with ginger hair and a portly waist line hurried past.
"Hey!" I said, throwing him my best flirtatious smile as I tried to usher him back to my stand. "You gotta try one of these."
He screwed his nose up. "I think I'll try one from Bakermatic instead." He patted his oversized tummy before adding, "Gotta watch the calories, you know. I can't have too many."
"But mine are made from all natural ingredients." Ahhh, it was too late. He was already waddling towards the Bakermatic stand, like they needed one more customer to add to the overflowing mob already crowding their tent.
I sighed. What was the use? How could I compete with thousands of free samples? This street fair was supposed to be my way to attract more customers, to get the word out that I had the best baked goods in town, and I couldn't even get anyone to stop and try them.
"Hey there," a kind voice called out. "Why are you looking so sad for?"
I glanced up. There he was. Tall, dark floppy hair. I guessed he was about five years older than me, which was just about perfect. Five years older and five inches taller.
A grin swept over my face in spite of myself. "Nothing," I said hurriedly, scurrying to tidy all the rows of unsold cakes and pies. Must look professional. Must look successful.
"Aww come on," he said, with a smile that brightened the damp day. "A gorgeous girl like you, with cakes that look so good. What's got you down so bad?"
I sighed. "That's very kind of you to say. But even though my cakes might look good," I brushed over his compliment about my own appearance. "it doesn't mean they’re selling." I pointed down the road to the line that snaked out of the Bakermatic tent. "I think they've got the monopoly on baked goods."
"Ah, I've heard about them." He nodded slowly and pursed his lips. "They're supposed to be evil, right?"
"Pure evil." I raised my eyebrows and let out a little laugh.
"Well, I'd rather try one of yours."
He cast me a lingering look that made the butterflies in
my stomach take flight. I perused the table, trying to find the best piece for him. I settled on my delicate carrot cake with cream cheese frosting and little red heart-shaped dots sprinkled on top. Too much? I told myself I'd explain that I hadn't noticed the hearts if he pointed them out.
He took the cake and—was it my imagination?—smiled a little when he saw the heart-shaped sprinkles. "Very nice," he said before opening his mouth wide.
It was a nervous few seconds before he gave his verdict.
"Perfect." He dusted off his hands and nodded. "If all your cakes are this good, I think I'll be seeing you again very soon. Rachael, wasn’t it?" He nodded at the shop sign name.
"That's me." I grinned. "And you are?"
"Jackson. I'll be seeing you again soon, Rachael."
As I watched him walk away, I grinned to myself, my stomach warm and gooey as a cupcake fresh from the oven. Maybe today wasn't such a disaster after all.
* * *
I kicked off my heels. As soon as I sat down there was a knock on the door. Great timing.
But I grinned when I saw Pippa's shock of red curls peaking through the windows. After the day I'd had, I'd forgotten what day it was. Time for Criminal Point.
Pippa had her hair tucked under a baseball cap wearing the logo of a company I didn't recognize. She threw it off and it rolled under one of my designer chairs. "How did it go today?"
I held my hands up. "I don't even want to talk about it." Not even the cute stranger, although that was the kind of thing I usually shared with Pippa. But talking about Mr. Handsome was going to mean dredging up all the other junk: the unsold cakes, the bills piling up at the door, the imminent eviction notice. I slumped back onto the sofa.
"All I want to do is lie here, tune out, and watch some TV."
"What's on the box tonight?"
I grinned at her. "Pippa, you know very well what night it is."
She stuck her tongue out. "Shall I order the pizza?"
I nodded gratefully. "Pepperoni thin crust! You know the deal. We always order the same thing."
* * *
Five minutes of Criminal Point left to go. The on screen detectives had just reached that point where the light bulb goes off and they were about to burst through the door of the final suspect, the one who had committed the murder.
Pippa and I leaned over, breaths held, pizza cheese dripping onto our plate below. Just as they were about to reveal the killer, the broadcast was interrupted for an "Important Local News Update."
"Nooo!" I squealed, reaching for the remote, stabbing at it randomly as though I could bring the program back to life. "What happened!"
"Shh," Pippa said. I felt her nails dig into my bicep. "Listen!" Pippa hissed for me to be quiet.
"What?"
"Shh!"
I dropped my pizza as a shot of the street fair flashed onto the screen. My mouth dropped as the anchor, a woman with a helmet of blonde hair and a stern face, delivered the news. "A woman has died following the Belldale Annual Street Fair, and police suspect that foul play may have been at work. They are investigating suspects now, and are urging anyone with details to come forward." An image of the victim flashed onto the box. Middle-aged, brown hair with a pink streak down the front. Her name was Colleen Batters.
Pippa and I stared to look at each other. "I know that woman!"
Pippa gulped. "How? Rachael, please tell me you just know her from your book club or something?"
I shook my head. "I served her today. Oh, Pippa! She was one of the few people to actually eat at my stand!" My heart started thumping and my head felt like it was pumped full of helium. Had I killed Colleen? My mind started fumbling back through the day’s events, to all the other people who'd eaten my food. What about that cute guy? Jackson. Was he okay?
There was a knock on the door. I was too stunned to even stand up so Pippa bounced over and pulled it open. A voice on the other side cleared his throat. "I'm looking for a Miss Robison."
Pippa turned slowly to look at me. "It's a cop," she mouthed in an exaggerated way with her eyes popped.
I walked over to the door like a zombie.
There he was. "Jackson?"
He cleared his throat again. "Officer Whitaker actually, under these circumstances. Miss Robinson, I'm afraid I need you to come in and answer a few questions. You're under suspicion for the murder of Mrs. Colleen Batters."
Chapter 2
"But you don't understand, I use only the finest, organic ingredients." My voice was high-pitched as I pleaded my case to the policeman. Oh, this was just like an episode of Criminal Point. Hey, I wondered who the killer turned out to be. I shook my head. That's not important, Rachael, I scolded myself. What's important is getting yourself off this murder charge. Still, I hoped Pippa had recorded the ending of the episode.
I tried to steady my breathing as Jackson—Detective Whitaker—entered the room and threw a folder on the table, before studying the contents as though he was cramming for a test he had to take the next day. He rubbed his temples and frowned.
Is he even going to make eye contact with me? Is he just going to completely ignore the interaction we had at the fair? Pretend it never even happened.
"Jackson..." I started, before I was met with a steely glare. "Detective. Surely you can't think I had anything to do with this?"
Jackson looked up at me slowly. "Had you ever had any contact with Mrs. Batters before today?"
I shifted in my seat. "Yes," I had to admit. "I knew her a little from the store. She was always quite antagonistic towards me, but I'd never try to kill her!"
"Witnesses near the scene said that you two had an argument." He gave me that same steely glare. Where was the charming, flirty, sweet guy I'd meet earlier? He was now buried beneath a suit and a huge attitude.
"Well...it wasn't an argument...she was just...winding me up, like she always does."
Jackson shot me a sharp look. "So, she was annoying you? Was she making you angry?"
"Well... Well..." I tripped over my words. He was now making me nervous for an entirely different reason than he had earlier. Those butterflies were back, but now they felt like daggers.
Come on, Rach. Everyone knows that the first suspect in Criminal Point is not the one that actually did it.
But how many people had Jackson already interviewed? Maybe he was saving me for last. Gosh, maybe my cherry pie had actually killed the woman!
"Answer the question please, Miss Robinson."
"Not angry, no. I was just frustrated."
"Frustrated?" A smile curled at his lips before he pounced. "Frustrated with Mrs. Batters?"
"No! The situation. Come on—you were there!" I tried to appeal to his sympathies, but he remained a brick wall.
"It doesn't matter whether I was there or not. That is entirely besides the point." He said the words a little too forcefully.
I swallowed. "I couldn't get any customers to try my cakes, and Bakermatic was luring everyone away with their free samples." I stopped as my brows shot up involuntarily. "Jackson! Sorry, Detective. Mrs. Batters ate at Bakermatic as well!"
My words came out in a stream of breathless blabber as I raced to get them out. "Bakermatic must be to blame! They cut corners, they use cheap ingredients. Oh, and I know how much Mrs. Batters loved their food! She was always eating there. Believe me, she made that very clear to me."
Jackson sat back and folded his arms across his chest. "Don't try to solve this case for us."
I sealed my lips. Looks like I might have to at this rate.
"We are investigating every place Mrs. Batters ate today. You don't need to worry about that."
I leaned forward and banged my palm on the table. "But I do need to worry about it! This is my job, my livelihood…my life on the line. If people think I am to blame, that will be the final nail in my bakery's coffin!" Oh, what a day. And I'd thought it was bad enough that I hadn't gotten any customers at my stand. Now I was being accused of killing a woman!
I
could have sworn I saw a flicker of sympathy finally crawl across Jackson's face. He stood up and readjusted his tie, but he still refused to make full eye contact. "You're free to go, Miss Robinson," he said gently. There was that tone from earlier, finally. He seemed recognizable as a human at long last.
"Really?"
He nodded. "For the moment. But we might have some more questions for you later, so don't leave town."
I tried to make eye contact with him as I left, squirreling out from underneath his arm as he held the door open for me, but he just kept staring at the floor.
Did that mean he wasn't coming back to my bakery after all?
* * *
Pippa was still waiting for me when I returned home later that evening. There was a chill in the air, which meant that I headed straight for a blanket and the fireplace when I finally crawled in through the door. Pippa shot me a sympathetic look as I curled up and crumbled in front of the flames. How had today gone so wrong, so quickly?
"I recorded the last part of the show," Pippa said softly. "If you're up for watching it."
I groaned and lay on the carpet, my back straight against the floor like I was a little kid. "I don't think I can stomach it after what I just went through. Can you believe it? Accusing ME of killing Mrs. Batters? When I know that Bakermatic is to blame. I mean, Pippa, they must be! But this detective wouldn't even listen to me when I was trying to explain Bakermatic's dodgy practices to him."
Pippa leaned forward and took the lid off a pot, the smell of the brew hitting my nose. "Pippa, what is that?"
She grinned and stirred it, which only made the smell worse. I leaned back and covered my nose. "Thought it might be a bit heavy for you. I basically took every herb, tea, and spice that you had in your cabinet and came up with this! I call it 'Pippa's Delight'!"
A Pie to Die For: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Page 1