A Freshly Baked Cozy Mystery Box Set

by Kate Bell

  “So, you’ve been here already?” Alec asked, handing his menu to Ed.

  “Oh yes, this is our third time,” Lucy said, not looking up. “They have the best French pastries here, don’t they, Ed?”

  “The best,” Ed said absently, and turned the menu page.

  “Seriously?” I asked her.

  She turned to me. “I can’t help it, Allie. It’s really good. I mean, the creamy stuff is really creamy. It melts in your mouth. The cakes are moist and the fruit pies are fresh. I don’t know how they do it.”

  “Great,” I said. “Even my best friend thinks this place has the best desserts in town.” I was starting to feel depressed. What a terrible time for me to have gone into business. If I had only waited a few weeks, I could have spared myself the embarrassment of failing and found something else to do with myself.

  “Oh, now, don’t get down. This place is nothing like Henry’s. I mean, it’s a totally different class of food,” she said, patting my shoulder.

  “Gee, that makes me feel great,” I said, sitting back in the booth seat. “Isn’t it terribly expensive to eat here regularly?”

  She shrugged. “I guess. But they lowered their prices. And no other restaurant in town has anything like this place does.”

  I looked at Alec and rolled my eyes. I was in trouble. How was I going to compete with this?

  “Nope, no one has food like this,” I said. My words were dripping with sarcasm, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe I would have to work on just blogging and forget selling desserts at Henry’s.

  “Say, the local grapevine says there was a murder over on Cherry Avenue. What do you know?” Lucy asked me.

  I glanced at Alec.

  “It’s too early in the investigation to know anything,” he said, picking up his glass of water and taking a sip.

  Lucy looked at me. “We’ll talk later?”

  “Allie is my assistant, and I expect complete confidentiality from my employees. You understand that, right Lucy?” Alec said sweetly.

  Ed chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

  I gasped. “Ed Gray, that’s just rude.”

  “But true,” he said, still looking over the menu. “The Cassoulet sounds good.”

  I gave him the evil eye, then turned to Lucy. “We really don’t know much of anything yet.”

  “Suit yourself,” Lucy said and picked up my glass of water and took a sip. “I heard it wasn’t a local. Someone new to the area.”

  “The weather sure is nice today, isn’t it?” Alec asked.

  I giggled. “No. It’s gray and cold and windy. I’m going home to bake ten chocolate cakes to make myself feel better about all of this,” I said motioning toward the packed restaurant.

  “Oh, you two think you’re so funny,” Lucy said. “But how is your new business doing, Allie?”

  I sighed and motioned toward the full restaurant again. “All my customers are here.”

  “Oh,” Lucy said, frowning. “That stinks. But people love Henry’s since Cynthia took over. I’m sure they’ll be back.”

  “Let’s hope so. But the bright side is that the blog is doing well. I’m getting lots of visitors and comments. I’m looking at ways to monetize it. I don’t want popup ads, especially some of the awful ones I’ve seen selling corn removal ointment and the others with those scandalous pictures. I want something classier,” I said.

  “I’ll help you with anything you need,” she offered.

  “Thanks, Lucy, I appreciate it. What is that on your forehead?” I asked, noticing a small hot pink streak above her left eye.

  “Oh. I tried doing my own hair. I wanted a couple of streaks of pink in it. I’m not sure where I went wrong,” she said, pushing back her purple knit hat.

  “Oh,” I said when I saw the bright pink color streaked across her blond hair. It looked like a toddler had scribbled across her head with a pink crayon.

  “She looks like an Easter egg.” Ed chuckled.

  “That’s unfortunate,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe you can get it corrected? You know, professionally?” Lucy sometimes thought she was a hairdresser. She was not.

  “Isn’t it? I looked online and it should be very temporary. Hopefully,” she said as the waiter arrived to take our orders. “If it isn’t, I guess I can get someone to help me with it.”

  We ordered our meals, and everyone ordered a dessert. That made me both happy and sad. I needed the chocolate to cheer me up, but we were supporting the competition.

  Chapter Eight

  Lunch had been delectable. I hated admitting it, but it was. I needed to come up with a plan to lure my customers—Henry’s customers—back. The menu could definitely use a good overhaul. It had probably been years since that had happened. Cynthia had made some changes when she took over, but there was room for a lot more improvement. I was going to have to talk to her about that.

  And I needed to advertise more. That would make more people aware that they could drop by anytime and pick up some good old-fashioned Southern baking, featuring real butter and cream and everything else that made desserts naughty.

  I had finished off my own lunch and the éclairs and then helped Alec, Lucy, and Ed finish off their desserts. Everything had been wonderful. I wanted to find fault in the desserts somewhere, but I couldn’t. This was French cuisine at it’s finest, as much as I hated to admit it.

  “I’m going to drop you off at home, then head over to the police station to see if they have anything new on the case,” Alec said.

  I sat up. “No, take me with you.”

  He smirked. “Sam would love that, wouldn’t he? I think I should take you home.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I’m your assistant. You can tell him I’m not going with you on investigations, but that I need to help you assimilate your notes and stuff like that.”

  He chuckled and glanced at me. “Assimilate my notes?”

  “Yes. Consider me your administrative assistant. I like the sound of that. But I still like assistant PI. We can discuss salary later,” I said.

  “Right. Salary,” he said with a smirk.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me, mister. Did you notice that I knew you were rolling your eyes at me without even having to look at you?” I asked.

  Alec pulled into the police station parking lot and came to a stop, shutting the engine off. He turned to me. “You’ve had entirely too much sugar today. You need to settle down a little.”

  I shrugged. “Okey dokey.”

  We got out of the car and headed into the station. Alec might have been right about the sugar. I had finished off dessert with two cups of strong French coffee, and I was feeling the buzz.

  “Hey, Alec, Allie,” George Feeney said when we entered the station. “You here to see Sam?”

  “We are,” Alec confirmed.

  “Go on back. He’s available,” George said.

  “Thanks, George. I think I owe you some cookies,” I said, following Alec down the hall.

  “Sounds good to me,” George called after me. “I like chocolate chip.” I liked George. He was mellow and low key. I didn’t mind going out of my way to bake him and the other officers some cookies every now and then.

  High maintenance people like Sam Bailey irked me though, and didn’t exactly put me in the mood to bake them cookies. So, no cookies for Sam.

  Alec knocked on Sam’s door, and opened it when Sam called out.

  “Sam,” Alec said, nodding.

  I followed close on his heels. “Hi, Sam, how are you this gray day? The weather sure has turned cold this afternoon, hasn’t it?”

  Alec shot me a look and I smiled back at him. Maybe I did need to calm down a little. My head was starting to spin from the sugar and caffeine.

  Sam sighed. “I’m just fine, Allie. Just fine,” he said. He didn’t sound like he meant it. He turned to Alec. “What can I do for you, Alec?”

  “I was just checking in to see how the investigation into Spencer Cranston’s death was coming.
I emailed you a brief account of my conversation with his wife. I’m assuming you got it?” he asked, taking a seat in front of Sam’s desk.

  I sat in the chair next to him. Sam hadn’t replied to Alec’s email and that kind of thing got on Alec’s nerves. He liked knowing the information had been received and I knew he wanted to know if there were any questions.

  “I did get it,” Sam said, picking up a file folder on his desk. “As always, I appreciate your help on the investigation. We don’t know much yet, but it looks like Cranston was strangled with a nylon cord. The cord was found in the backseat of the vehicle the victim was found in. We haven’t gotten the medical examiner’s report back, of course. But it seems like a garrote is something someone that had some skill would use, not an amateur.”

  Alec nodded. “I would think if someone had no experience with a garrote, they might screw it up. That’s interesting.”

  “Wow. A garrote?” I said, sitting back in my chair. “That sounds so nefarious. Like, do we have international spies in town? Is there a convention?” I giggled at my own joke.

  Alec slowly turned toward me and gave me a hard look. I smiled back. Apparently I was the only one that thought it was funny. I decided I had better try and keep my mouth shut.

  “Why is she here?” Sam asked, looking at Alec.

  “Hey, I’m right here. Don’t talk about me like I’m not,” I said.

  “Why don’t we focus on the investigation?” Alec asked, ignoring me.

  Sam’s jaw twitched. “Do we have any more information on Spencer Cranston? You said he and his wife moved to Sandy Harbor six months ago. Where did they live before that?”

  “Florida,” Alec answered. “There really wasn’t much that his wife said that struck me as suspicious, but she was unhappy in the marriage. When I asked his wife for more information on why she thought her husband was having an affair with Jenna Maples, she said she found information on his hard drive. When I first spoke with her over the phone about taking this job, it sounded to me like she had more evidence that he was cheating, but when pressed, she didn’t really seem to have much. Also, the laptop she said she had found information about Jenna Maples on is missing. She said she doesn’t know where it went.”

  “Did you find out anything from speaking to Jenna Maples?” Sam asked.

  Alec shook his head. “She saw his vehicle across the street and we told her someone had died. She didn’t seem bothered by it. I thought she would have shown some emotion if she had been having an affair with him.”

  “And have you checked out Spencer Cranston’s place of employment?”

  “We’re going over there next,” I said, and then glanced at Alec. I hoped that was where we were going. Alec hadn’t mentioned it, but it seemed like the thing to do.

  Alec gave me a look again and then turned back to Sam. “We had planned on going there next. I called and spoke with the facility manager, a Bart Hicks. He’s agreed to see us and discuss Cranston,” Alec said.

  “We?” Sam asked. “Why we?”

  “Did you dust the car for prints?” I interrupted.

  Sam stared at me for a few seconds before answering.

  “Do you really think we wouldn’t do that?” he asked slowly. “I’ve been at this job long enough to know to do that.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said. I could feel Alec looking at me, but I didn’t turn in his direction. I made a mental note to never again eat that much sugar and drink that much caffeine all at once.

  “The medical examiner is conducting an autopsy today. I’m wondering if there are drugs or alcohol in his system. I can’t imagine how someone would sneak up behind him in the car and get a cord around his neck without him knowing they were in the car with him,” Sam said.

  “Unless he knew the murderer was there,” Alec pointed out. “Maybe the killer was a passenger in his car.”

  Sam nodded. “That’s a possibility.”

  “It doesn’t make sense that he was in Jenna Maple’s neighborhood if they weren’t having an affair,” Alec said. “We spoke to another neighbor, but he didn’t see anything.”

  Sam was quiet a moment. “Well, I’ve got an appointment in five minutes,” he said abruptly. “Again, I appreciate your help.”

  “No problem,” Alec said, standing up. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Bye, Sam,” I called as we left his office. We said goodbye to George and headed to Alec’s car.

  “Allie, I can’t have you acting like that,” Alec said sternly when we got into his car. “I’m leaving you behind next time.”

  “I’m sorry, Alec. I don’t know what’s come over me,” I said. “Do you really think he knew the killer was in the car with him?”

  Alec shrugged and started the car. “That or like Sam said, he might have had drugs or alcohol in his system and didn’t hear the killer sneak up on him.”

  “What if he was asleep?” I suggested.

  “Could have been,” he said pulling out of the parking lot. “But why would he go to his lover’s house and then park out on the street and take a nap?”

  “Maybe his lover had another lover. Or a husband? We didn’t ask her that,” I said. The caffeine and sugar was making my head spin. Maybe Jenna was having an affair on her affair and maybe her husband was watching her. Or maybe the victim knew about the affair and was just waiting for him to go to work.

  “You’re very confusing,” he said.

  Whatever the answer was, we still had a lot of investigating to do and if I was going to get to help Alec, I needed to get my act together. But I was already dreaming of going back to Le Chemise and ordering more of those éclairs. I had never tried making them and I wondered if I could improve them. Lighter and creamier maybe. I sighed. Now I really needed a nap.

  Chapter Nine

  “Are you going to be okay?” Alec asked as he paused at the front door to Stanton Industries.

  “What? Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I asked.

  “You were a little off in Sam’s office,” he pointed out. “I’d like you to behave yourself.”

  “I assure you, the caffeine has worn off,” I said, giving him my scout’s honor salute.

  “Great,” he said, rolling his eyes and opening the door for me.

  We walked into the building and looked around. The center of the office held a couple dozen cubicles while the perimeter of the room had offices.

  “The important people must be the ones in offices,” I whispered.

  “You think?” he replied with a smirk.

  I gave him the evil eye. He could be such a smarty pants.

  “Hello, may I help you?” a young woman at a freestanding desk near the door asked us as we approached. She looked to be in her early twenties, with blond hair and dark, thick-framed glasses. She looked nerdy smart. But that’s what I expected at a software development company.

  “Yes, I’m Alec Blanchard and this is Allie McSwain. I spoke with Bart Hicks earlier today and he said it would be fine if we dropped by this afternoon,” Alec said.

  “Certainly. Have a seat and he’ll be right with you,” she said.

  We sat in a nearby pair of cherrywood chairs with plush cream-colored cushions. The décor of the office was simple, yet distinguished. Landscape paintings hung along the walls not occupied by offices, with a couple of seat groupings in strategic places. The buzz of voices could be heard throughout the office, with snatches of conversations here and there. The place must have been set up so that conversations were muffled, even in the cubicles, because it was hard to follow any one conversation.

  After a few minutes, a tall, thin man with blond hair and gold wire-rimmed glasses approached. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and seemed painfully thin. “Alec Blanchard?” he asked, looking at Alec.

  “Yes,” Alec said, standing up. He shook hands with Bart and then introduced me. “This is Allie McSwain, my assistant.”

  “Come over to my office,” Bart said. We followed him along the line of cubicles. Each was fille
d with a nerdy smart looking person and I wondered if looking nerdy smart was a requirement to work here. Alec had gotten a hold of a picture of Spencer Cranston while he was still alive and he looked less nerdy than the others here, but he was a nerd just the same.

  Bart’s office was in a corner of the building and was large, with picture windows on each side. His desk was perfectly neat and straight. A pen, pencil, hardback journal, and a glass of water sat in the exact middle of the desk. Bart motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk and Alec and I sat down.

  “What can I help you with?” Bart asked, sitting at the desk chair and folding his hands on the desk.

  “We needed to ask you about Spencer Cranston,” Alec began. “As you know, he was found murdered two days ago. Can you tell me what kind of employee he was?”

  “Spencer was a good employee,” Bart said, sitting up straighter. “He was working on the development of a new program and was always a key player in all group projects.”

  “How long had he been employed with Stanton Industries?” Alec asked, making notes in his notebook.

  “Let’s see, that would be just about a month shy of eight years,” Bart said, thinking for a moment.

  Bart had thin lips and when he finished saying something, he drew them up in a smile that looked slightly creepy. There was something about him that I didn’t like, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  “You said he was a good employee,” I said. “And also that he’s a key player. It seems like a key player would be described as more than ‘good’.” I gave him a smile of my own.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Oh, I didn’t mean to demean him. He was indeed, an excellent employee. I relied on him to take charge of projects and he never let me down. Stanton Industries will be less of a company without him. All of my employees feel that way. They’ll miss him. Although,” he said, and then paused a moment. “I will say, there were times that he let the company down. Times when he was asked to work overtime and he chose not to. That’s a little bit worrying to a manager, you know. I need people that are team players. People that will go the extra mile.”