Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Boxed Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Stacey Alabaster

  "Eek!" Simona let out a squeal and jumped up and down excitedly. "He just texted me! He texted me!" Her eyes ran across the screen hungrily. "Oh, Pippa, if you don't mind just letting yourself back in, I really need to go. He wants to see me!"

  Pippa's mouth spread into a wide grin, which was matched only by my own. "No, that's fine. You go!"

  Pippa hurried back to me as Simona ran in the opposite direction.

  She jangled the keys in front of me with a wild grin. "That worked out even better than I'd planned."

  "You're a genius Pips. You always seem to shmooze up to the right people, no matter what job you get."

  "It's a gift." She let out a short sigh. "Just too bad that I don't have a gift for actually keeping jobs."

  I shot her a sympathetic look as she pushed the door open, and finally, we were inside, and alone.

  "So this is what an evil lair looks like." I spun around the pristine looking kitchen with its stainless steel pantries and countertops. "It's a little disappointing."

  Pippa flicked another light on. "I'm still not sure what you're hoping to find in here, Rach."

  I shot her a look. "Anything." I hurried past her. "Where’s the office?"

  Pippa was hot on my heels. "It's 'round the corner, to the right, but it's for managers only."

  I spun around. "So what?"

  Pippa stopped. "Well, it's locked."

  I glanced down at the keys in Pippa's hand. "Isn't Simona a manager?"

  She slowly lifted up the jangling bunch of keys. "She's only a shift manager. I'm not sure these will work."

  I grabbed her by the arm. "Come on, we have to try."

  "Okay, but quickly." Pippa looked over her shoulder. "Who knows how long we've got before someone calls security. You've already been to the police station once in the past twenty-four hours, you don't really want to make a second trip, do you?"

  I kept a lookout while Pippa tried every key on the key chain with no luck. "Last one," she said, raising an eyebrow as she showed me our last hope of breaking into the office. "Wish me luck."

  I took my eyes away from the hallway while I watched the key inch its way into the lock, and finally, after an eternity of waiting, click as it slotted in just the right way and allowed the door handle to turn.

  "Phew," I said. "Thought we were going to have to break in for a second there."

  Pippa raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what we're already doing?"

  "No, this is still legitimate," I rationalized. "You forgot your jacket, and we're just looking for it. You think it might be in this office." When Pippa still didn’t look convinced, I added, "Breaking in—real breaking in—would have been if you'd had to pick the lock."

  "Hey," Pippa said in mock offense. "What makes you assume I know how to pick locks?"

  I gave her a look. "You don't?"

  "Well, I do, but that's not the point!"

  I laughed as I gently pushed her into the room. "Come on, let's go!"

  I began to sift through the piles of papers on the desk. It was mostly mundane stuff—staff rosters, lists of stock to order for the following day, health and safety memos—while Pippa kept an eye out at the door. "Rachael, what are you looking for exactly? Do you really think there's going to be a piece of paper with 'We Killed Colleen Batters' written on it in bold text?"

  "No, of course not." I continued to shuffle through the piles, not caring too much if I messed them up. "I'm just looking for something that shows how dodgy Bakermatic is, something that I can take to the police and show them."

  "Rachael, careful! They're going to know someone was in here if you keep flinging the papers around like that! And they'll know I was in here because I had the key!"

  "Oh, you're right," I said, hurrying to pick up the papers I'd knocked on the floor. It wasn't going to help my case if Pippa lost her job on day one.

  "Here, let me help." Pippa raced over and knelt down on the floor, helping me put the stacks back in order. She frowned. "Does this look right? Is this what they looked like when we walked in?"

  "I'm not--" I stopped speaking and brought my finger up to my lips.

  "What is it?" Pippa whispered.

  "Shh." I kept my finger pressed against my lips. Just as I was about to relax a little, I heard them again: footsteps.

  "Oh cripes, someone's called security!" Pippa tried to crawl under the desk. "We need to hide!"

  I frantically looked around the room. There was only one cabinet along with the desk, and any attempt to spring out the door would only take us straight to the owner of those footsteps, which were drawing closer and closer. Pippa was right, the best option was under the desk. But was there enough room for the both of us?

  Pippa pulled me in after her, not allowing me to make the decision or second-guess myself.

  I heard her swearing under her breath as the steps drew closer. A pair of small feet in black boots appeared in the crack underneath the desk.

  "Pippa?" a voice called out.

  Not security after all. It was Simona. Pippa could barely conceal the groan that escaped and I shut my eyes, hoping that Simona hadn't heard it.

  "Pippa," Simona said in a stern, booming voice. "Where are you? If you've broken into this office..."

  So maybe Pippa had been right. Maybe it was technically breaking in. I felt her nails dig into my forearm again and I could hear her mutter, "Oh no, not again."

  The footsteps drew closer and I sucked in my breath and held it tight as a long brown ponytail appeared in front of the desk, swinging in front of us. Within seconds, Simona was down on her knees, her eyes glowing as she captured her prey.

  "Simona, I can explain." Pippa said, clambering out of the desk. "I was... I was just looking for my jacket."

  "Underneath the desk?" Simona already had her phone out and I could see her fingers taping 911.

  Oh no!

  "Please," I said, scrambling out after Pippa. "You don't need to call the cops. I can explain what we're doing here."

  Simona's finger froze above the phone and her jaw dropped open. "Are you the girl from the bakery down the road? The one who has been killing people?"

  "Yes…I mean, no! Not killing people!"

  Her fingers jabbed frantically at the screen. "Police, please! We've had a break in at the Belldale Bakermatic Company, and the suspects are extremely dangerous."

  I rolled my eyes while beside me, I noticed Pippa drop her head to the floor, all her usual enthusiasm drained from her. "Simona, does this mean?"

  "Yes, Pippa. You are definitely fired."

  Pippa was still grumbling when we finally got to the station. "She doesn't even have the power to fire me. She's only the shift manager, for crying out loud." The heat was off in the station and I shivered inside my red peacoat. It really was not built for sleuthing, or getting caught sleuthing. I made a mental note to buy a more practical coat in the future if we were going to keep up this detective work.

  "Pippa, that isn't the most important issue right now," I started to say, before a tall man wearing an expensive navy suit strolled in with an arrogant swagger.

  I groaned inwardly. Nooo, not him. This was exactly the last thing I had wanted to happen.

  He shot me a sly grin. "Fancy seeing you in here again, Miss Robinson. Will you follow me please?"

  "Good luck," Pippa whispered, shivering besides me. "He looks terrifying."

  I braced myself for Jackson—Detective Whitaker—to give me another dressing down. I knew what he was going to say.

  This doesn't look good for you, Rachael. Caught breaking and entering while you are suspected of killing a woman.

  He was going to turn the screws, try to get me to confess while I was under stress. Not that I had anything to confess. But he didn't know that. I knew how guilty I looked.

  Jackson kicked back in his seat and a wry smile danced on his lips as he dangled a pen from them. "Not exactly keeping yourself inconspicuous, are you?"

  Was this casual, friendly banter a way to un
nerve me, a tactic to make me feel as though I could confide in him, open up?

  "No," I had to admit. "I didn't exactly intend on ending up in the police station two nights in a row."

  "What were you doing in the Bakermatic premises, Rachael?"

  So, it was 'Rachael' now, rather than 'Miss Robinson.'

  I decided to go with the truth. "I was trying to find evidence."

  "Evidence of what?"

  "Evidence that they did it. That they killed Colleen."

  The wry grin was still on his lips but an edge of surprise had crept into his expression. "What did I tell you about not doing my job for me, Rachael?"

  "I know. But you wouldn't listen to me last night when I tried to tell you that Bakermatic must be to blame."

  "Rachael, you sound kind of obsessed with Bakermatic."

  I leaned back in my seat. "I'm not obsessed with them. I just can't stand them. They've put me out of business, Jackson." I didn't stop and correct myself by calling him Detective. "And now they’re telling people that I killed Colleen. My bakery was dead today. I didn't make a single sale."

  "Well, I'm sorry to hear that." He sounded genuine. "But that doesn't give you the right to break into private property."

  "But we had a key," I tried to protest.

  "You’re being charged with breaking and entering," Jackson said matter-of-factly as he scribbled something across a piece of paper. "And I'm sorry to say, this doesn't look good for you regarding the other matter, Miss Robinson."

  Back to Miss Robinson. I tried to take a few calm deep breaths. "But, when you think about it, it does actually look good for me."

  Jackson looked up sharply. "How so, exactly?"

  "Well, why would I be breaking into Bakermatic if I was guilty?" I masked my voice with a thick layer of boldness. "If I knew that I was guilty, why would I be so intent on trying to prove that Bakermatic did it? Why would I need to break in?"

  Jackson shrugged. "To plant fake evidence? There are a hundred reasons why you could have broken in, Rachael, and not one of them makes you look less guilty."

  I felt the ice run down my back. "I wasn't planting evidence."

  Jackson stood up and placed his pen back in his breast pocket. "We'll see what the investigation turns up, Miss Robinson. I've got a detective down there sweeping the scene."

  I gulped and subconsciously ran my hand along the front of my coat, where, nestled in behind the interior pocket, I had the paperwork I'd snatched just before Simona walked in and caught us.

  I hadn't planted any evidence, but I might have stolen some. Would the detective down on the scene know?

  I shook my head to try to clear it and stood up. "So am I free to go?"

  Jackson gave me a slow look up and down. "I can't hold you any longer. For now. But you'll have to go to court for those breaking and entering charges."

  "Right."

  "And Rachael," he said, showing me out the door, "I strongly advise that you stay out of trouble from this point forward. Or next time, I won't be able to let you go quite so easily."

  Chapter 4

  "Pippa!" I shook her shoulders as she woke, startled from a deep sleep. My sofa had become her new apartment following the recent eviction from her own.

  "What? What is it?" As soon as Pippa opened her eyes, she groaned and slapped her head. "Rach, I just remembered what happened yesterday."

  I jumped onto the sofa next to her, excitedly waving around a pile of papers. "Yeah, we got arrested. It was a real bummer."

  "No, not that. I mean, I just remembered I got fired again."

  "Pippa look at these. Hang on, what are you talking about, Pippa? You think the worst thing about yesterday was the fact that you got fired?"

  She motioned to the sofa as she buried her face in a cushion. "Look at this, Rach! I'm sleeping on your sofa."

  "And you can stay here for as long as you like," I pointed out. "Pips, did you think your job at Bakermatic was a serious thing?"

  She rolled over, revealing her Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles t-shirt she wore as a pajama top. "I mean, maybe it was stupid of me, but I thought I could actually stick it out there. The conditions were good, and I liked my manager—well, at least until she caught us breaking in."

  My face fell. "Oh, Pips, I'm sorry. I never thought you were taking that job seriously." I swallowed. "But I'm sure the conditions weren't that good there. I mean, they take advantage of their employees, don't they? They are famous for giving out low pay and making their staff work overtime." At least, that's what I'd heard. That's what I'd assumed.

  Pippa shrugged. "They paid a decent, livable wage..." She caught the look on my face. "It's okay, though, Rach, I know the only reason I took the job was to help you out. Like I said, I was just being silly, getting ahead of myself. Imagine me, actually able to hold down a job!" She let out a hollow laugh. "It was never going to happen."

  I patted the sofa. "I mean it, Pips. You can stay here, free of charge, for as long as you like."

  Pippa's face finally broke into a smile and she sat up. "So, what have you got there?"

  I gulped, wondering now if it was such a good idea to tell her. She was clearly a little sensitive over the Bakermatic issue. And I was still reeling from the news that it might actually be a halfway decent place to work. I tried to tell myself that Pippa just hadn't been there long enough to realize how terrible it really was. She only worked there a day! Any job can seem all right after only one day.

  "Well, come on," Pippa begged, grabbing the papers out of my hands. "Oh," she said, her face falling when she saw the Bakermatic logo on top of the letterhead. "Where did you get these?"

  I grimaced. "I swiped them before Simona caught us last night."

  Pippa's mouth fell open and at first I thought she was going to give me a lecture, maybe throw the papers back in my face. But instead, her eyes began to twinkle with what looked like admiration.

  "Good work, Rach."

  "Phew, I thought you might be mad that I got you into even worse trouble."

  Pippa laughed. "I've already been fired, how much worse can it be for me?"

  "I guess that's true." I pointed to one of the documents. "Look at this, Pippa. It shows the kitchen cleaning log. It's where Bakermatic fills in all the health and safety details of the kitchen. For example, every night before closing, they need to check the temperature of the refrigerator, and they record everything in that log."

  She frowned and read over the chart as she clutched it tightly in her small hands. "Yeah?" she said, confused. "This is what you were so excited about?"

  "Look at the dates on it." I jabbed my finger.

  "It's for the second week of October," Pippa said. "So?"

  "So? What week is it now?"

  Pippa screwed her face up in deep concentration. "I dunno? The second week of October? The first?"

  I snatched the papers back from her. "It's the first week of October, Pips."

  "I still don’t see the big deal.”

  "Look at this log! They've already filled it in, in advance, for next week! How can they know the temperature of the refrigerators the week before? It's impossible."

  Pippa slowly began to nod as she finally understood what I was saying. "So someone was clearly trying to save time."

  "Cutting corners." I shook my head. "Typical of that place." I waved the papers in front of her. "If they don't even bother to make sure all the food is stored at safe temperatures, who knows what kind of stuff they are serving to customers!"

  Pippa leaned back against the sofa and gave me a careful look. "I agree, it's a little dodgy that they did that. It's not right, but, Rach, it certainly doesn't prove anything."

  "It proves that they don't take proper safety precautions. It proves they don't care about their customers. Pippa, I take a careful log every single day. I would never do my safety checks a week in advance like this."

  Pippa looked away and didn't say anything for a long moment. "I know you wouldn't, Rach. But this is j
ust one piece of paper. All it proves is that they cut corners on their paperwork this one week. It doesn't prove they don't care about their customers."

  I could see the look in her eye. It was the same one Jackson had at the police station. She thought I was obsessed as well; I could tell.

  I shuffled the papers in my lap. "I think I should take these to the police."

  "And where will you say you got them from, exactly?"

  "They already know we broke in. What does it matter?"

  "It matters because you were only charged with breaking and entering. You want a burglary charge as well?"

  A smile threatened to take over my lips. It was very strange for Pippa to be the one giving me sensible advice. Was she right? Would handing this over to Jackson only get me in further trouble? After all, it wasn't the only thing I'd swiped.

  But maybe it would finally make them investigate Bakermatic seriously.

  "Come on," Pippa said, jumping up. "Don't you have a bakery to run?"

  My mouth was agape. "Right now? No, I don't actually. I've got no customers. Hence, no business to run."

  Pippa pulled a sweater on over her Turtles t-shirt. "Come on, you never know what today is going to bring! You don't know what you're going to find when you get to work."

  I nodded. "You're right. I should at least go in. Are you coming with me?"

  "I've got nothing else to do."

  I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. "I'll have to pay you in cakes though, at least I've got plenty of those."

  Pippa was right. I didn't know what I was going to find when I got to the bakery. What I didn't expect to find was the word "Killer" painted in bright red letters on the front window.

  "Who did this?" Pippa asked as she took off her sweater and began to frantically mop up the paint. I noticed too late that it was actually my sweater she was wearing.

  "Yuck." Pippa shook the sweater, the white of it now streaked with red, blood-looking paint. "This is kind of turning my stomach."

  Even though she had managed to blur the word "Killer" a little, it was still clearly legible.

  "I think too much of the paint has already dried. Maybe we should have come in sooner."