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

by Stacey Alabaster

  Pippa was still shivering as she stared off into the distance. "I saw something, Rachael," she whispered.

  I stood up, thinking about the glass shards in the hallway. "Did someone break in?" I asked, terrified as well now.

  "Not someone," Pippa whispered. "Rachael, the thing I saw wasn't alive, it wasn't human."

  I stomped over and turned the lights on properly. "Come on, Pippa," I said. "You're freaking me out."

  "I don't mean to," she whispered. Her eyes were filled with tears now. One of them spilled down her cheek. "I’m not making it up, though. Rachael, there was a ghost in the house. I heard something in the hall. I went to investigate, and I saw it."

  I was fighting not to show that I was scared as well, but I was losing the battle. "Pippa, I think you've just caught my flu," I said gently, completely forgetting about all the drama with Romeo earlier. "Maybe you’re just hallucinating?" I asked hopefully.

  She shook her head. "I feel fine. Besides, have you been hallucinating?"

  No, I had just been feeling sick to my stomach. No ghostly apparitions.

  "Rachael." Pippa tried to steady her voice. "It told me to stay away from Gus's shop."

  I just stood there staring at her.

  I wasn't sure what I believed at that moment.

  "Pippa," I said gently, but firmly. "I know you're scared right now, but you have to admit that sounds a little ridiculous. After all the crazy stuff you've had in your head, don't you think it's possible that maybe you just imagined it?"

  She shook her head. "That's it, Rachael, I'm out."

  "Out of what?"

  "The investigation for one thing. No more snooping around at night, no more asking questions. I'm done with all of it. And if you want my advice, you should leave it alone as well." She shot me a look. "And if you decide to go ahead with buying Gus's shop, then I am done with the bakery as well."

  Chapter 7

  So now there was one. Just me, alone, trying to solve this mystery. Gus was still my prime suspect.

  I had found out earlier from another shop owner on our street that the guy who was murdered was someone named Jason Hamilton. I knew a lot of people in this town, with my business and living here as long as I have, and I was thankful that I didn’t know him. The shop owner from the yarn store, Knitwit, had told me that the police weren’t releasing his name, but she had found out from her brother-in-law that works at the station. That explained why Jackson wouldn’t answer any of my questions about the murder victim. It was supposed to be all hush-hush.

  I sat down at my kitchen table and got out a notebook. It was still hours before Pippa would rise so I knew I had a little time before she caught me. I started scribbling down the ideas I had so far.

  Access. Gus owns the shop, so he had the opportunity to kill Jason.

  Motive. Gus has a big motive for killing Jason. He wants to keep his shop. The murder—and the freaky stories surrounding it—means that no one will want to buy the shop.

  I paused and put the pen to my lips. Hmm. In fact, the stories could actually attract more attention to his store. People like antiques with a story. And it would also buy him a little time before he has to sell.

  I glanced at Pippa sleeping over my shoulder. All of a sudden, I was desperate to wake her up and tell her my theory. She'd thought that Gus wouldn't make up ghost stories because it would be bad for business.

  But what if they were actually good for his line of business?

  But Pippa had said she was done with the case. Sadly, I turned around and let her sleep. I was going to have to do this on my own.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Nothing!" I slammed the notebook shut. "Just writing down a list of stock we have to order for the wedding reception."

  Pippa frowned. "The reception? The one that’s today? A little late to be ordering supplies, isn't it?"

  "Just a few last minute things I need to get. The bride had some special gluten free requirements for some of the guests."

  "Oh," Pippa said, nodding. "We don't want to poison any of the guests." She cringed. "Sorry. Poor choice of words." The memory of a customer being poisoned—and one of my pies being to blame—was still a little too fresh. But I told her not to worry about it.

  "We need to get going. It's big days like this that can really make or break the bakery!"

  "Hey, you guys are opening really late today," a man wearing an army jacket and a bright yellow hat said as he waited by the bakery door. I pulled out my key, struggling as I juggled boxes of the gluten free supplies I'd been forced to buy while Pippa accompanied me to the specialty store. That's what I got for lying: three hundred dollars out of pocket. Oh well, the reception we were about to host would make up for that little loss.

  "Sorry," I said, putting on an apologetic face as I struggled with my boxes. "We're closed for a private function this afternoon. Hence the late start. A wedding reception."

  "Oh," the man said, scowling as he craned his neck to try and get a look through the window. "That sounds mighty interesting. Is anyone welcome to come along?"

  Out of respect for my guests' privacy, I stood in front of him. "No, sorry." But I couldn't help thinking what a strange request that was. Who asked that? "We'll be open to the public again tomorrow morning. I hope to see you then!"

  I wasn't sure I really was, but I watched him trudge away.

  "Who was that?" Pippa asked.

  "An unwanted guest," I said. "Wow!" My breath was almost taken away by how beautiful the inside of the bakery looked, all decked out in pink, silver, and white. "You did an amazing job, Pippa."

  She grinned at me. "Let's get ready for this wedding reception!"

  I was dressed to match the decor in a short pink and silver dress, partly because I wanted to blend in with the scenery. I was there as staff, not as a guest. Still, it was exciting to see the bakery come to life like that, to see it full of people dancing and eating and enjoying themselves. I cast a glance next door. If only we'd been able to use the second store, we could have fit in even more guests.

  "What are you thinking about?" Pippa nudged me and nibbled on a cupcake.

  "Nothing," I said quickly, straightening up. "Just admiring the shop."

  "Why don't you take a break?" She winked at me, though I had no idea why. "Something tells me that you might want to have a dance soon."

  "Does it?" I asked incredulously. "Pippa, I'm here to serve food, not dance it up!"

  She nudged me again and then pointed at the crowd before scooting away. I turned to see what on earth she was pointing at.

  My eyes widened and I straightened up immediately. How long had he been standing there?

  "Jackson!" I'd seen him in a suit before, his detective suit, but this was different. Usually he wore dark colors but today he was dressed in a rather festive light grey with a salmon colored tie. It suited him.

  "I had no idea you were going to be here."

  "The groom and I are friends from way back," Jackson explained. "But I don't know too many of the guests, I have to admit, but when I saw the reception was being held here, I just had to tag along."

  He did know how to make a girl blush.

  "Would you join me for a quick dance?"

  I glanced around. Would it be incredibly bad form for a server to join in? But the bride nodded at me and I took that as a sign that I had her permission. However, I was still a little nervous about dancing with Jackson for some reason.

  "Hey, you never told me why you ran out of the coffee shop the other day," Jackson said as we gently swayed to a mid-tempo pop song.

  I shot him a look. "I just didn't like being accused, that's all."

  "I told you, I wasn't accusing you of anything." He was silent for a moment. "Though there were some rumors that you were sneaking around the crime scene shortly afterwards."

  I pulled back. "So you are accusing me then?"

  "Not of having anything to do with that man's murder."

  "What are you accusing me
of then?"

  He raised an eyebrow. "Trying to solve the case yourself."

  I felt my face go red and we began to dance again.

  "Am I wrong?"

  I shook my head. "No," I admitted softly. "But I have a personal stake in this, Jackson. I was already supposed to be the owner of that shop by now. Then all this happened."

  Jackson frowned. "You do realize you're not a detective though, Rachael. Do you have your PI's license?"

  "No," I had to admit. "But anyone can be an amateur sleuth, can't they?"

  He sighed. "I just don't want you to get into trouble again.

  I wondered if it was already too late for that. There was no way I wanted to get into all the paranormal stuff—sorry, alleged paranormal stuff—with Jackson, but so much creepy stuff had happened lately that I was starting to wonder if I really should back off and listen to Pippa.

  "You've gone awful quiet."

  "Just enjoying a bit of peace," I said quietly.

  The DJ started playing a more upbeat song and I took that as my cue to pull away again. "Sorry, I just need to run out for a second. See if we have any cakes left in the back." Really, I needed to go to the bathroom, but he didn't need to know that.

  "Okay," Jackson said, looking disappointed.

  As soon as I finished in the bathroom and headed back to the counter, Pippa shot me a look. "What are you doing? Go back over to him!"

  I turned around. Jackson was dancing a little awkwardly by himself in the middle of the floor. "I don't know." Just as I was contemplating going back over to him, there was a loud crashing sound.

  That's when we all heard the screams coming from next door.

  "Move away," Jackson commanded as all the guests spilled from my shop to Gus's, all trying to rubberneck and see what was going on.

  I tried to push through the crowd. "What is it?" I asked Jackson.

  "You too," he commanded. "Rachael, you need to step back." It seemed like the intimacy between us had faded away already.

  I looked past him anyway. I had to see what the heck was going on.

  I brought my hands to my mouth and gasped as I saw it: a dead body lying in the center of Gus's Antiques. From the looks of it, a young woman.

  Another murder victim.

  "Well, that kind of put a dampener on the whole wedding reception." Pippa sat next to me while I tried to soothe my nerves with a cup of ginger tea. It wasn't working. The guests had all cleared out and I hadn't even collected payment from the bride and groom.

  "What a total disaster," I groaned, throwing my head on the table.

  "Not to mention a tragedy," Pippa pointed out.

  "I know, I know." I looked up. "You can go if you like. Jackson said he only needed me to stick around."

  Pippa wasn't above making a joke in that moment. "I bet he did."

  "He just wants to ask me a few questions."

  On top of everything else, I was incredibly nervous about why he wanted to speak to me. But I told Pippa I was fine and that she ought to go home.

  It seemed like I was waiting hours for Jackson to finally come speak to me. "Thanks for waiting. Sorry your event got ruined."

  "You ought to tell that to the bride and groom."

  He sat down across from me and pulled a notepad out of his breast pocket. "Did you see anything suspicious today before you started work?"

  I thought for a second before shaking my head. "I was in a rush. Nothing that I can remember." I paused. "Jackson, how did she die?"

  "I told you earlier, we can't give out that information to the public."

  I'd been hoping I was more than just 'the public.' "But how can I help you if I don't know any of the details of how she died?"

  "And I've told you that already as well: you don't need to help us in that way. You can help by answering my questions."

  I leaned forward. "Did she die the same way as the first victim? Do you think we are looking for the same person?"

  What I really wanted to ask was, Do you already have an idea of the suspect? Because the first person you should be looking for is Gus.

  He glared at me. "Rachael, 'we' are not looking for anyone. The police are looking for a suspect. You'd do better to stay out of it. Now, can you remember anything suspicious happening today?"

  I shook my head and stood up. "I really should be getting home, if that's all."

  He looked at me gravely. "It's not, actually."

  I turned back to him in surprise. "I've already told you I didn't see anything. What else do you want from me?"

  "I'm sorry to do this, Rachael. But if you don't want to cooperate here, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come down to the station to ask a few more questions. Officially."

  I just stared at him. "You've got to be kidding me, Jackson. I was here the whole time!"

  He stared at me. "Not the whole time."

  I rolled my eyes. The bathroom break. Right before the screams. I shook my head. This was just great.

  "Fine. You lead the way."

  Chapter 8

  I felt like I had been in the back of the police car for an eternity. Jackson mentioned something about the storm coming and I stared at the dark clouds above that looked like they were about to engulf the entire town of Belldale with one swallow.

  But all I felt was numb. I pressed my cheek against the glass to try to feel something. "Can I roll down a window?" The heat in the car was suffocating.

  "It's about to start raining," Jackson replied, sounding slightly curt.

  I took it as a no.

  Guilty. That's the way I felt. A second body? I glanced down and played with the bracelet on my wrist, spinning it round and round. What if I really was to blame?

  What if Pippa was right?

  Either way, it seemed like everything I'd worked so hard for was slipping away again. Just when things seemed to be going well, disaster struck again.

  What if I really was cursed?

  The seat was plastic and digging into my back. Now I was freezing. Would it have killed them to put on the heat? It was the middle of winter, after all, and we were about to be hit by a storm.

  But I supposed cops didn't really care about making their suspects feel comfortable.

  "Gus Sampson is the person you should be questioning."

  It was a different detective interviewing me this time, a woman in her early thirties with a rail thin frame and curly red hair. "Where is Detective Jackson, by the way?"

  She paused from the notes she was jotting down and shot me a look. "He’s busy. You don't need to worry about him."

  I wondered if he'd asked this woman—Detective Emma Crawford, apparently—to conduct the interview because he had a conflict of interest concerning me.

  "So," Detective Crawford said. I wondered how long she had worked at the station. If her and Jackson were partners. If they ever worked cases together, long nights on stakeouts...

  "You were in the bathroom?" She raised a thinly manicured eyebrow. "That's a convenient story."

  "Not very convenient seeing as I am in here," I pointed out.

  "Can anybody confirm you were using the bathroom?"

  I shook my head. I didn't want to say anything else. I wanted to speak to Jackson. Or get a lawyer.

  Detective Crawford continued.

  "And weren't you also a suspect in the murder of Colleen Batters?"

  "Emphasis on suspect. For about a minute. I actually helped to solve that case," I said pointedly.

  A look of amusement crossed her face. "Did you? That's nice that you think that."

  I felt like I had shrunk to the size of a mushroom. Maybe I wasn't a cop, and maybe I didn't officially have a P.I's license, but I had helped to solve that murder fair and square.

  I crossed my arms. "You can ignore what I have to say about Gus Sampson, but if you do, it’s at your own peril." I knew how ridiculous that sounded before I'd even got to the end of the sentence and immediately wished I could reach out for the words and swallow them.


  Detective Crawford's amusement only grew wider. "I think we'll be okay."

  I nodded, silent again. After everything that happened, I wasn't sure I was doing much good towards the case anyway. I hadn't been able to stop the second girl from dying.

  "Did you even come into contact with Bridget Lassiter before?"

  "Bridget?" I asked, confused.

  Detective Crawford blinked slowly. "That's the name of the woman who was found dead today."

  I ran the name through my head, foraging for a connection, but I just ended up shaking my head. "Was she the same age as the other victim?"

  Another long blink. "Roughly the same. Don't try to solve this case for us. Detective Whitaker said you had a habit of that."

  I raised an eyebrow. So he talked about me to her. Maybe to others.

  I leaned forward. "With all due respect,Detective, there are two people dead. Will there be more to come? If you want my opinion, the sole person you should be looking at is Gus Sampson." I told the detective about what I had seen him doing in his store that morning, with the painting and the wires.

  She frowned. "You saw him jiggling a painting around? Sounds very suspicious." I could tell she was biting her lip to keep from laughing now. I realized that without context, without explaining to her everything about the painting and the so-called 'curse'—and, most importantly, without explaining that I had broken into his shop the night before—that Gus playing with the wires on the painting added up to exactly zero evidence against him.

  I leaned back. Maybe what I'd seen did mean exactly nothing.

  But Gus had to have done it. "It's not just the painting thing," I pointed out, worried that I sounded totally stupid now. "He's the only person with access to the store." I saw the look on her face. "Well, apart from the other employees of course," I added quietly. Maybe I really was out of my depth here.

  "Don't you think we, as detectives, have already thought of that?"