"I'm sorry, Adam," I whispered. "I had to do it. Even if it wasn't poisoned, that cake was a travesty."
"Please," I pleaded with Jackson. "I know you're not talking to me, but just let me have one minute to speak to Dawn before you take her away. Haven't I at least earned that?"
He sighed reluctantly before he pulled Dawn around to face me, her hands still handcuffed behind her. Jackson turned his face away in a futile effort to give us some privacy.
"Just tell me, Dawn. Why did you do it?" I tried to keep the shaking out of my voice. Tried to hide the hurt over my surrogate nana betraying me like that.
"I was about to be replaced on the program." Dawn turned her head toward the studio and let out a bitter laugh. "I wasn't making good TV, as they say,” she murmured, her voice suddenly sounding like it was coming from so far away.
"But what did Pierre have to do with it?"
"Pierre Hamilton was the executive producer. It was all his decision." Dawn turned back to face me. "Do you know how long I waited, sidelined to pathetic morning shows for decades, overlooked and underappreciated, just waiting for my one shot at fame? After years of scratching and clawing my way into a primetime position, I wasn't going to let anyone take that away from me. Certainly not Pierre Hamilton," she spat. "And not this new guy either. Colin Evans wasn't going to take my job away from me either."
"No. You did that to yourself. Did you have to use my cake to do it, though?"
Dawn offered me an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, my dear. It was nothing personal."
I took a step back and nodded at Jackson. "You can take her away," I whispered.
In the end, the producers selected two contestants from Belldale to appear on the next season of Baking Warriors.
And I wasn't either of them.
The flight was late, but I had a feeling Pippa would have waited a million years for that plane to land.
"Marcello!" Pippa screamed, running so fast that her legs were nothing but a blur underneath her. "I can't believe it!" she gasped, flinging herself into his arms.
I hurried after her, keen to see the happy reunion. Eager to see that Marcello was in one piece. I mean, it was Marcello. Maybe the best we could hope for with him was several pieces.
"But why did you run away, sweetheart? When you knew you didn't do it?" Tears were flowing down Pippa's face.
"I couldn't live like that, with you thinking that I did it, that I was guilty," Marcello said. "I knew how it would have looked as well, with my reputation for accidents. I knew everyone must think I could do such a stupid thing. All I would have to do would be walk past a cake and accidentally poison it." Marcello pulled away from Pippa for a second and looked at me.
"I was such a big fan of the show and Pierre. I met him years ago and got that photo." He stopped to collect himself. "I went along to the audition thinking I might get on the show. Of course I didn't, but I didn't want to tell Pippa where I had been that day because I'd told her I was out looking for a job." He turned back to Pippa. "I'm so sorry, my darling."
"No, Marcello, don't say that. I'm so sorry, baby," Pippa said as Marcello wrapped her hands in his. "I should never have doubted you."
Marcello kissed her hands and told her it was all right, that none of that mattered anymore. "Just as long as we're back together now."
I watched them for a moment and I could see that they were genuinely happy and in love. And even though Marcello could break just about anything, I knew their relationship was one thing he would make sure he’d keep together.
"Come on, you two," I said, laughing. "We've got a wedding reception to organize."
Epilogue
Three months later
"You look beautiful, Pippa," I said as she carefully examined her dress in the door of the silver fridge, which was serving as a mirror. We were standing in the kitchen of the bakery, about to make our big appearance in the reception area.
"It's not too 'wedding-y,' is it?" She turned to me, concerned. "It's not too 'bridal'?"
"Um." I looked at the bright purple dress that perfectly matched her hair. "No, I don't think it's too bridal. I don't think I've ever seen a bride wearing anything like that." I walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I do think it's just perfect for you, though."
We laughed, and danced, and made sure we ate every bite of wedding cake under Adam's watchful eye. He was recently back from shooting the show but had signed a strict confidentiality contract, so he couldn't tell us how far he'd gotten.
From the way he'd hounded Pippa into letting him cater the reception, I had a suspicion he'd been eliminated in the first round.
"I still can't believe I paid for this," Pippa said, shaking her head as she nibbled at the thick almond icing. "Rach, you really need to expand into the wedding cake market."
"Shh!" I said, and we both giggled.
"Well, should we call an early end to this wedding reception?" Pippa asked me with a wink after a few more spins around the dance floor.
"What? Why?"
Pippa pointed at the clock. "It's almost 7:30."
"And?"
She gave me a 'you've got to be kidding me look.' "Don't you know what it's the premiere of tonight?"
I threw my head back with a little groan. "No, Pippa. I don't want to see it."
"Come on," she said, linking her arm through mine. "Let's find a TV."
I didn't manage to pull my face out of my hands for even a second during my 'audition' scene, which was part of a tribute to Pierre that aired at the start of the program. But the sound of my voice and my stuttering over my words was more than enough to make me want to die.
"I can't believe they kept that in there," I groaned.
"They must have thought it made good TV."
Pippa, Marcello, and I were all squeezed onto the couch together, huddled round the TV set. They kept telling me they were going to get their own place soon, but there was no rush.
All during the episode, I kept reliving my on-screen debut in my head, meaning I barely paid attention to what was actually happening on the screen. It was all a blur of icing sugar and chocolate and tears and Adam flailing about dramatically, posing for the camera every time it came near him.
I was wrong. Adam DID make it through the first episode.
"Tune in next week when disaster strikes one unlucky contestant," the voice over said ominously.
"Is it sabotage?" The camera zoomed in on a slow motion shot of Renee, who was found surreptitiously tampering with what appeared to be Adam's cake mix.
"The most evil contestant we've ever seen on Baking Warriors," the booming voice shouted as the special effects turned Renee's eyes red.
I rolled my eyes. She was only adding an extra teaspoon of sugar to Adam's mixture.
"I'm glad I got out when I did, though," I stated. "I just wouldn't have made good TV."
Thanks for reading the Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Boxed Set (Books 1 - 3). I hope you enjoyed reading the stories as much as I enjoyed writing them. If you did, it would be awesome if you left a review for me on Amazon and/or Goodreads.
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Preview: Rest, Relaxation and Murder
There was a loose timeline to the game. We were supposed to have a round of drinks, then go around, introduce ourselves as our 'characters' and then wait until appetizers were served before we did the first round of questions and alibis.
We were all sitting there, tapping our fingers against the table, waiting for the food to arrive, and the game to start.
"I’m so hungry I am going to eat my character card," Pippa whispered as she leaned over to me. "We haven't eaten since that fast food restaurant we went through at 6am."
"I know," I said with a sigh. "Everyone else would have had their catered meal on the bus at least," I said, looking at them all with envy. My character card was starting to look pretty tasty as well.
Robert looked across the table and winked at me again. "Taking a while, isn't it?"
I coughed nervously and looked at my watch. "You know what? I'm going to check on what’s going on."
Pippa looked startled, as did the other guests as I stood up. "Well, someone has to," I muttered as I threw my napkin off my lap and stomped towards the kitchen.
I should have knocked, but I was so used to entering commercial kitchens unannounced that I didn't stop to think. Besides, I was lightheaded with hunger by that point. So I just barged through the doors.
I stopped when the yelling fully hit me.
"Well, I don't know how to do it!" one young chef, a woman with bright red hair sticking out from under her white cap, yelled.
"You're the sous chef!" a young man in a dirty apron–probably a kitchen hand–yelled back.
The woman threw her hands in the air. "What does that matter! Ann never lets me actually cook anything." She banged her hand down on a bench. "They are all her recipes. Gosh, even if they weren't, Ann was supposed to do all the prep. We've got nothing, Aaron!"
"Well, figure something out!"
They both stopped yelling when they realized I was standing there and turned to stare at me.
"Oh, hello," I said meekly. "I was just...erm." I looked around at the empty benches. "I'm a guest at the retreat and it's just... We are getting quite hungry out there. Is everything alright?"
The woman sighed and waved her hand over the benches. "Well, we may as well come clean," she said dejectedly. "We've got nothing to serve tonight. You're going to have to make do with sandwiches." She wouldn't look me in the eye.
I frowned. Something was clearly not right. And it wasn't just that we were going to be stuck eating sandwiches for dinner.
"What's going on?" I asked, looking between the two of them.
The kitchen hand, Aaron, looked away from me as well. "Nothing," he muttered.
"It sounded to me like—forgive me if I'm wrong—your head chef never turned up?"
The woman turned away and began to wipe a bench that wasn't dirty. "It's no big deal," she said. "Ann does this sometimes."
"Vikki," Aaron said. "Come on. She wouldn't just disappear like this. Not on the first day of the retreat. Not without telling a soul. That's not like Ann."
Vikki spun around, her face red and her eyes wild. "It's exactly like Ann. She’s flaky. Unpredictable."
Aaron shook his head. "Not about her work. Come on, Vikki. We've got to come clean." He stopped and looked at me, almost like he'd forgotten I was there.
"Come clean about what?" I asked slowly.
"Nothing," Vikki said.
Aaron starting scrubbing at another clean bench. "Just that we've got no food," he finally said, throwing off his apron. "I'll take the bullet," he said, storming out of the door. "I'll tell the guests."
That left me alone with Vikki, who was still averting her eyes.
"Ann is missing?" I asked her. "For how long?"
She screwed her face up. "What does it matter to you?"
"Have you told the police?"
Vikki shrugged. "She'll turn up. One way or another."
I held her gaze for a long time. "Right," I said, turning around to follow Aaron out of the room. I returned to the dining table to find my fellow guest groaning at the idea of sandwiches replacing a warm five-course meal.
Aaron held his hands up. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said. "Don't shoot the messenger."
I stared after him. Was he just the messenger, though? I watched his back all the way to the kitchen before he disappeared behind the swinging doors.
Pippa looked up at me aghast. "Come on," I said, "let's go." I pulled her up by the arm. "We can just eat chips from the mini bar for dinner."
"Hey," Pippa cried as I pulled her out of the dining room. "The game's still going on!"
"Forget about the game," I said as I pulled her around the corner into the corridor. "There's more than a game going on, Pippa," I whispered.
"What are you talking about?" Pippa whispered back.
I looked over my shoulder towards the kitchen. "Something's not right, Pippa. The head chef, some woman named Ann, is missing." I shook my head. "And I don't think there's an innocent explanation for it, Pippa. Something is going on. Something is very wrong. And those two in the kitchen know what it is." I stared back at Pippa. "And it's up to us to investigate."
Thanks for reading a sample of my book, Rest, Relaxation and Murder. I really hope you liked it. You can read the rest at:
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Make sure you turn to the next page for the preview of Murder in the Mountains.
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Preview: Murder in the Mountains
Screams were not a normal part of the workday at Aspen Breeze. When Jennifer heard the anguished cry of the maid, she ran around the desk and sprinted out the door. Clint, not through with his breakfast, followed at her heels. The door to the room had been left open. The maid stood on the thick burgundy carpet in front of the unmade bed and pointed at the hot tub.
Water remained in the tub, but it wasn’t swirling. The occupant, a red-haired, slightly chubby man whose name Jennifer had forgotten, was face down. His blue running shorts had changed to a darker blue due to dampness. Reddish colorations marred his throat. Another dark spot of blood mixed with hair around his right temple. Pale red splotches marred the water.
For a moment, she felt like the ground had opened and she had fallen into blackness. Legs weakened. Knees buckled. She shook her head and a few incoherent syllables came from her mouth. Clint’s arm grasped her around her waist.
“Step back. It’s okay,” he said.
It was a silly thing to say, he later thought. Clearly, it was not okay, but in times of stress people will often say and do stupid things.
He eased her backward, and then sat her down on the edge of the bed. He walked back and took a second look at the hot tub. He had seen dead bodies when he covered the police beat. It wasn’t a routine occurrence, but he had stood in the rain twice and on an asphalt pavement once as EMTs covered a dead man and lifted him into an ambulance.
By the time he turned around, Jennifer was back on her feet and the color had returned to her cheeks.
She patted her maid on the shoulder. “Okay, it’s all right. We have to call the police. You can go, Maria. Go to the office and lay down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She glanced at Clint and saw he had his cell phone out.
“…at the Aspen Breeze Lodge,” he was saying. “There’s a dead body in Unit Nine. It doesn’t look like it was a natural death.” He nodded then slipped the cell phone in his pocket. “They said the chief was out on a call but should be here within fifteen minutes.”
“Good.” Jennifer put her hands on her hips. Her gaze stared toward the hot tub. A firm, determined tone came back in her voice.
“Clint, those marks on his throat. The red on his forehead. This wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“We can’t really say for sure. He might have tripped and hit….” Th
e words withered in the face of her laser stare. “I doubt it. I…I really can’t say for sure but…I doubt it.”
They looked at one another for a few seconds. Light yellow flames rose up from the artificial fireplace and the crackling of wood sounded from the flames. Jennifer sighed. She realized there was nothing to do except wait for the police.
The silence was interrupted by a tall, thin man, unshaven as yet, who rushed in.
“Bill, what are you doing with the door open? It’s still cold….” He stopped as if hit by a stun gun. Eyes widened. He stumbled but caught himself before he fell to the carpeted floor. “Oh, no! What happened?”
Jennifer shifted into her professional tone as manager. “We don’t know yet, sir. I assume you knew this man.”
He nodded weakly. “Yeah, Bill’s been a friend of mine for years.”
“I remember you from when you checked in yesterday, but I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.”
“Dale Ramsey.”
Ramsey had a thin, pale face that flashed even paler. There was a chair close to him and he collapsed in it. He had an aquiline nose and chin but curly brown hair. His hand went to his heart.
“Sorry you had to learn about your friend’s death this way, Mr. Ramsey,” Jennifer said. “I regret to say I’ve forgotten his name too.”
“Bill Hamilton.”
Jennifer turned back to Clint. “Do you think we should move the body? Put it on the rug and cover it with a blanket?”
Clint shook his head. “I think the police would prefer it stay right where it is, at least for now.”
Jennifer nodded. A steel gaze came in her eyes. She looked at Ramsey, who almost flinched. Then he shook slightly as if dealing with the aftermath of a panic attack.
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