Small Town Scary (Cozy Mystery Collection)

by Anisa Claire West

  I hesitated, debating whether I should take her up on her appealing offer. Usually, I liked to be the one to shut down the shop each night and make sure that my safe full of recipes was securely closed and all the cash was counted properly. I’m a control freak, I realized with a shudder. My mother had been the same way about her kitchen, never even letting me stir a ladle into a pot of her precious tomato soup. Only my grandmother had showered me with the freedom to bake and create. Which of those women did I want to emulate?

  “You know, that’s a great idea. Thanks Mikaila!” I whipped off my apron and gave her a little hug.

  “No problem. Now go have your date! And pick up some breath mints on the way there! And maybe an air freshener!” She tittered, pinching her nostrils again.

  “Good night, Mikaila,” I said, walking out of my bakery and forcing myself not to look back or compulsively check that everything was in place. Let go, Cathleen. Go have some fun!

  ***

  In my three plus decades of life in Bluebird Landing, I had never ventured into a cheese shop. As the unofficial dairy capital of the USA, Wisconsin was teeming with cheese shops and ice cream parlors, which I had always taken for granted as a native of the state. So I felt like a photo snapping tourist as I strolled up the pathway to Gouda & Ready. Nestled in between a shoe repair shop and a hardware store, the cheese shop lent an aura of warmth and elegance to the block.

  Glancing across the street, I curled my lips into a scowl at the sight of Amazing Crumbles, one of my biggest cookie competitors. I suddenly remembered the other reason why I had never visited Gouda & Ready before: to avoid running into my arch nemesis, Maggie, who owned Amazing Crumbles and was always trying to outdo me in advertising and sales. Turning away from the ridiculously girly hot pink awning, I glided to the door of the cheese shop, startled to see Chad waiting for me just behind the glass.

  “Boo!” He joked, chuckling at my nervousness.

  “Well good evening to you too,” I drawled sarcastically.

  Smiling, Chad held the door open wide for me and bowed his head. “Good evening, fair lady. Do come in. Is that better?”

  “Oh yes, much,” I replied with a giggle.

  His smile faded as he looked me up and down in my snug stonewashed jeans and aqua tunic top before his eyes settled on my face. “You look great. I’m glad you made it.”

  “Thanks,” I replied uncertainly. The last time I had been on a date was the previous August. Or was it July? My endless work at the bakery frequently made me lose track of time. Consequently, the back and forth tennis match of dating was as foreign to me as the Great Wall of China.

  “I hope it’s okay with you, I set up a little dinner for us right here.” He pointed to a linen-covered table with a candle flickering in the center. Platters of artisanal cheeses, bread, grapes, sliced pears, and mini quiches beckoned from the tabletop. A bottle of sparkling wine lay sealed next to a corkscrew and two glasses.

  “Wow!” I blurted out before softening my tone. “You did all this for me?”

  “That’s right. Now can I pour you a glass of wine?” Chad asked as he guided me over to the table.

  “Please,” I replied, hungrily eyeing the sumptuous feast he had prepared. “I didn’t know you were a chef.”

  “Hardly,” he scoffed with a low chuckle. “All I made was the quiche. Everything else, I just put on the plates!”

  “Well it looks amazing,” I insisted, sitting down and folding a napkin in my lap.

  As he poured our wine, Chad asked, “So how’s business at the bakery?”

  “Really good. Constantly busy,” I murmured, taking a sip of wine. “That’s why I stay open 7 days a week.”

  “But you don’t work 7 days a week, right?” He asked, frowning in obvious disapproval.

  “Sometimes I do,” I admitted, realizing how sad it sounded.

  “You need at least one day a week off, Cathleen. Everyone does. My shop is closed on Mondays, and I have limited hours on Tuesdays. Gotta make some time for fun.” He clinked his glass against mine in a wordless toast.

  “You’re right. I hear you,” I sighed, digging my fork into the warm quiche that was oozing with Swiss cheese and porcini mushrooms. “Mmmm, this is delicious.” The flaky crust dripped with melted butter, carrying me to a happy place that usually only cookies could.“What about you? Business is good here?”

  Chad leaned back in his chair, drawing my attention to the broadness and sheer strength of his shoulders. Running a hand through his wavy hair, he mused, “It could be better. There’s a lot of competition around here.”

  “I know what you mean. Your neighbor over at Amazing Crumbles is one of my biggest competitors. Then there’s Emery’s Country Bakery less than a mile from here. Plus, Just Cookies opened up on Pine Street a few months ago. Pretty soon bakeries are going to be as common around here as…”

  “Cheese shops?” He deadpanned, picking up a wedge of Brie and biting into it with gusto.

  “Exactly,” I replied.

  “Then what’s your secret to success? Because I don’t feel like I learned anything new at that convention. Seriously, what a waste of money. At least it’s a tax write off, I guess.” He shook his head and popped a few red grapes into his mouth before adding seductively, “Of course, I did get to meet you there. Talk about silver linings.”

  “Yeah, right in the middle of that boring sales strategy lecture.” I chuckled.

  “So what is the secret to your success? Since we know it had nothing to do with that ridiculous convention!” Chad took another swig of wine and regarded me intently as though I were about to reveal the real identity of the Mona Lisa.

  “The secret to my success?” I echoed, immediately thinking of my grandmother’s recipes that were stashed away in the combination-locked safe at my bakery. “Family secret. All my cookies are made from classic German recipes. Fresh ingredients, nothing synthetic. Ever. I don’t care if it takes me 5 hours to make a cookie dough. It’s worth it for the finished product.”

  “I’d love to try your baking sometime,” Chad said, bursting into a dimpled smile that made me shiver with raw attraction.

  “We can stop by my shop for dessert if you’d like,” I offered, already deciding that I would bake him a batch ofmy favorite Spiced Apple Sauce cookies.

  “Sounds perfect,” he replied with a brilliant glow in his eyes that made the candle flame look dark.

  After a second helping of quiche---and another glass of wine---we stepped out into a bracing spring evening. Leafy trees undulated around us as I quivered, wishing I had brought a jacket. Tentatively, Chad slung his arm around me, instantly making my chill disappear. The moon was full and luminous in a charcoal sky as we arrived at my shop.

  “Cathleen’s Cookie Castle. Adorable,” he murmured as I unlocked the front door.

  “Alliteration makes people remember brands better. Or at least that’s what one of my hardcore marketing professors told me in college.”

  “Then I should have named my store Chad’s Cheesery,” he joked as I laughed, leading him into the kitchen.

  As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, I regretted leaving Mikaila alone in the bakery. Flour and sugar granules covered the baking table while bottles of vanilla extract and packages of vegetable shortening had been knocked over on the counter.

  “What a mess,” I hissed under my breath.

  Then, my temper boiled to a fever pitch as I noticed the back door opened a crack. Someone could easily have entered the bakery and pilfered my recipes. Irate, I rushed to the safe, breathlessly hoping that it hadn’t been pried open by an intruder looking for valuables. As I clamored to the safe, my grandmother’s long ago words haunted me:

  Guard these recipes like gold!

  Chapter 2

  My gold hadn’t been perfectly guarded, but it was still there. Without opening the safe, I could see that the storage center hadn’t been broken into. No one knew the combination, so the only way to open the safe would have been
violently with a wrench or jackhammer. I sighed my relief as I contemplated firing Mikaila for leaving the bakery in such a vulnerable---and messy---state. Then, Chad walked into the room, instantly melting my anger with his tropical-hot gaze.

  “Is everything okay, Cathleen? You just rushed in here.” He put a hand lightly on my shoulder as I expelled a breath.

  “One of my employees left the back door open. And she left a mess on the baking table too. I just wanted to make sure my safe was in tact,” I explained as my heart rate slowed to normal. It wasn’t just the business value of the recipes that was upsetting me. It was what they symbolized. Gone for nearly a decade, my grandmother had left me little other than sweet recipes and sweeter memories.

  “Is that where you keep those top secret family recipes?” Chad conjectured as I frowned reflexively. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be nosy…”

  “No, it’s fine. You weren’t. I’m a little overprotective of my recipes, I guess.” I forced a laugh at my own expense. “Come on, let’s go back to the kitchen now,” I suggested playfully. “I’m going to bake you the yummiest cookies your taste buds have ever met!”

  ***

  Floating on air the next morning after my dinner date with Chad, I had no idea that by the end of the day I would be sitting in a police interrogation chamber…

  Waltzing through the door of my cookie castle at the slacker hour of 12 noon, I waved breezily to Byron and Jade, who were gossiping at the counter over a couple of chocolate chip walnut cookies. “I hope you paid for those!” I called, sensing that the youngsters were mocking me behind my back. “I saw that!”

  “Huh? How did you know I rolled my eyes?” Jade asked as I whirled around to face her.

  “Pink hair now? What happened to the neon green?” I ignored her question, glancing at the latest shade she had colored her wispy bangs.

  “Do you like it?” She tossed her hair like a shampoo model and gave me a snarky little Miss America wave.

  “You look adorable,” I said honestly. Sometimes my customers looked disapprovingly at wild child Jade, but I viewed her self-expression as a type of creativity. Food coloring, hair coloring, really what’s the difference?

  Clean cut Byron quickly wolfed down his cookie along with a mini carton of milk. “You’re just like my mom. Got eyes in the back of your head,” the 16 year old said as I cringed. Did he really just compare me to his mother? Well, technically, I was old enough to be his mother. What a scary thought!

  “Get back to work, guys. I’m sure there are orders to fill,” I said sharply.

  “Yeah, a big order came in this morning for the Small Business Association. They want to serve your cookie cups with apricot preserves at their next meeting,” Jade informed, handing me the order.

  “Excellent!” I could hardly contain my excitement. For the first time in—I don’t know, ever,---my personal and professional lives seemed to be moving on a smooth track. True, I had only been on one date with Chad, but it was a pretty special date and he had already asked me out for the weekend. I sighed happily and asked, “Is Mikaila in the back room? I need to talk to her.”

  “Mikaila? No, is she working today?” Jade asked, grabbing for another cookie as I gently smacked the top of her hand in protest.

  “Mikaila was supposed to open the store today,” I said uneasily, immediately feeling that something was amiss. First, she leaves the bakery in disarray, and then she doesn’t show up for work? That was not the reliable young woman whom I had come to count on in the past year.

  “Really?” Byron muttered. “No, we both showed up here at 11, and the store wasn’t open. Jade found the key inside the mailbox and we opened up.”

  “Were there any messages on the store phone?” I asked.

  “Just an order from Mrs. Bantley who wants four dozen assorted cookies for her daughter’s birthday party on Saturday.” Jade shrugged helplessly.

  Reaching into my purse, I checked my cell phone and saw that I didn’t have any missed calls or new texts. “This is really strange,” I murmured. “I hope she’s okay.”

  “I know, she’s always here,” Jade agreed.

  “She doesn’t even call in sick,” I continued, finding Mikaila’s number in my cell directory and placing a call. “She’s not answering,” I said after a moment.

  “Maybe she didn’t feel well today,” Byron suggested as I shushed him with my index finger pressed to my lips.

  “Hi Mikaila, it’s Cathleen. We’re over here at the bakery, worried about you. You were supposed to open today, remember? Okay, just give me a call as soon as you get this. Hope everything is okay.” I hung up the phone, at a loss of what else to do other than get to work.

  The day moved quickly, with new orders cropping up every hour and customers fawning over my special of the day: Date-Stuffed Cookies, a Mediterranean treat that I had learned to make at a cooking seminar. It was one of the few contemporary recipes that I deemed worthy of baking at my shop.

  Periodically, I checked my phone for messages from Mikaila, but she hadn’t gotten in touch. Chad, however, had sent a stream of adorable texts telling me he was thinking of me and looking forward to seeing me again. I tried to stay focused on business, but the memory of dinner and conversation at his cheese shop was a constant distraction.

  By 6 pm, with still no word from Mikaila, I decided to call her again. When my call went unanswered, I left a second voicemail and backed it up with a text message. “You guys can get going now. Good work today,” I praised my young employees, handing them their paychecks. They didn’t waste anytime collecting their belongings and scrambling towards the door.

  “Bye Cathleen!” They yelled in unison as I waved and grinned. Couldn’t blame the kids for wanting to get out on such a clear, gorgeous June evening.

  Alone in my “castle,” I contemplated what step to take next. My messages to Mikaila had gone ignored, and nearly 24 hours had passed since the last time I saw her. Wouldn’t that qualify her legally as a missing person? Carefully, I locked up the bakery and jumped in my car to drive across town to the police station.

  Crime was virtually non-existent in Bluebird Landing, with the exception of the occasional shoplifter or jaywalker. The police station was quiet as I walked through the video monitored doors and approached the officer at the front desk.

  “May I help you?” Asked Officer Henry Deacon, a seasoned cop with thinning hair and sweaty features.

  “I think I need to report a missing person,” I replied uncertainly.

  “You think you need to report a missing person?” He repeated as though I should be sitting in the corner wearing a massive dunce cap.

  “Yes,” I continued, unruffled. “I own Cathleen’s Cookie Castle across town and…”

  “Oh, my wife loves your bakery! She’s there every week for a couple of those cookies of yours…what do you call them, shortcake? With the nuts?”

  “Golden Pecan Shortbread Cookies,” I clarified, shocked at the officer’s cavalier attitude.

  “Oh yeah! They’ve given us both quite a belly!” He rubbed his tummy for effect as I narrowed my eyes at him. “Anyway, what were you saying?”

  “I was trying to say that one of my employees didn’t show up for work today. The last time I saw her was 24 hours ago, so I think that the time frame is long enough to consider her a missing person,” I said stiffly, hoping the jolly fool wouldn’t try to dish about cookies again.

  “Yup, it’s long enough. I’ll sit you down with Detective Jonathan Mars. He’ll take a statement from you.” Without getting up from his chair, Officer Deacon reached for the phone and paged the detective unit.