Winning The Batchelor (A Patty Cakes Bake Shop Cozy Mystery Book 7)

by Holly Plum

  Joy was inclined to say no, but the woeful look of pleading on Sara Beth’s face wrung her heart. “Sure, as long as we don’t have a ton of customers,” she replied.

  A coldly calculating look came into Sara Beth’s eyes, as though she was plotting ways of getting rid of them. “Oh, we won’t,” she responded.

  Joy returned to her meringue, trying to figure out why she had been so hesitant to let Sara Beth take a few hours off. She ought to have been more excited about her date with Landon, but a cloud of suspicion still hung over him that she couldn't dismiss. Although Joy had good reason to believe he was innocent of the actual murder, she still couldn’t help feeling like he was hiding something.

  Sara Beth kept a watchful eye on the bakery’s pink lacquered doors throughout the day, and whenever the bells chimed and a new customer came in, she heaved a quiet sigh. To her credit, however, Sara Beth didn’t attempt to dissuade customers from entering or evict those who were already there through underhanded means. She kept one eye on the clock and the other on the number of customers waiting to be served as she wiped down the counters and took orders.

  Close to closing time, customers were sparser.

  "So, do you mind if—"

  "Go ahead," Joy stated. "I'll be just fine."

  However, they were both distracted by a faint buzzing from outside. It grew louder until it rattled the windows in the kitchen. Joy and Sara Beth glanced at one another in confusion.

  “What on earth is going on—” Joy asked, but at that moment the pink doors burst open, and at least a hundred people poured into the room.

  “One at a time," Sara Beth shouted, guarding the register instinctively. "I guess I'll be staying here until closing."

  The crowd parted, and Landon Park walked up to the counter wearing his trademark dark sunglasses.

  “Hello, ladies,” he said with his usual swagger. “I’m looking for a woman named Sara Beth. I was told I could find her here.”

  "That’s me!” cried Sara Beth, throwing her hands in the air and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

  Joy couldn't help but roll her eyes. Sara Beth looked quite ridiculous.

  With a theatrical flourish, Landon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a shining silver ticket. Sara Beth’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as he leaned across the counter and handed it to her. Written in elegant script at the top were the words good for one splendid evening with Landon Park.

  As Sara Beth stood there grinning shyly and basking in the applause of the crowd, it occurred to Joy that this moment was very important to her assistant. In the time they had known each other, she had never seen Sara Beth so happy. Joy eventually found herself smiling and clapping along with the rest of the group.

  Landon raised his hands for silence but was interrupted by a tug at his elbow. A small man wearing a fedora stood on his toes and whispered something into Landon’s ear. Landon nodded with a grave look. "A few more pictures and then I have to be going."

  Intrigued by the man in the fedora, Joy approached him carrying a fresh cup of coffee. All eyes were on Landon and Sara Beth. It gave Joy a quick moment to fish for more answers about the man who had seemingly stolen Sara Beth's heart.

  “I thought you might want this,” Joy said, holding out the coffee. Together they watched the excitable crowd thronging around Landon, his security detail struggling tirelessly to keep onlookers at a distance. “It’s pretty inspiring, the amount of devotion he provokes in people, don’t you think?”

  “It really is,” the man agreed. “I’ve been his assistant for years now, and the excitement never fades. If anything, he’s more popular now than ever. He's opening up doors for himself left and right.”

  “Impressive,” Joy said. She waited a second before asking, “What’s your name?”

  “Tenny Morris,” he replied, setting the cup down on an adjoining table and extending his hand. “Nice to meet you."

  “Joy Cooke,” she replied. “I own the bakery. I mean it was my mother's but then she … well, she passed away and left the shop to me …”

  Tenny murmured his condolences and excused himself so he could speak to Landon. Joy watched as Tenny muttered something else to Landon and Landon quickly obeyed. Joy found it strange that Landon acted the way that he did toward his own employee. Unless Tenny wasn't Landon's assistant at all. If anything, Tenny seemed to be the one making the rules. He seemed like more of a handler than the hired help.

  Landon raised his hands in the air like a conductor waving a baton and bade a cheery farewell to his fans. As he walked out the door, he turned to Sara Beth and winked. She fell back against the counter, clutching her heart.

  “Did you see that?” she stammered. “I haven't been with anyone as handsome as that.”

  "What about Lenny?" Joy asked, remembering Sara Beth's brief and partially secret fling with Maple McWayne's baking assistant.

  "Oh, we've kind of parted ways." Sara Beth bit the corner of her lip. "For now, at least."

  “I’m happy for you,” Joy said, not very convincingly. “Now you’d better get going, or all the stores are going to close.”

  Sara Beth studied her employer. “Joy Cooke,” she said, “I know that face. That’s the face you get right before you find yourself sleuthing.”

  As hard as she wanted to, Joy couldn’t deny this. It was exactly the reason she was hoping to close the bakery right after Sara Beth left.

  “So, who’s the target?” asked Sara Beth. “As your partner in crime, I feel I have a right to know.”

  “Just someone I met,” Joy replied, blinking repeatedly and adding in a quieter voice, “of Landon’s…”

  Sara Beth frowned as though she had just tasted something sour. “You know, for the last day, I've been getting the feeling that you might be jealous. It’s nice to have my suspicions confirmed. Just because I won the date and you didn't that doesn't mean you should go off ruining everything by accusing Landon of murder.”

  “Sara Beth, it’s not like that,” said Joy responded. She felt the futility of trying to argue with Sara Beth when she was worked up like this. “I don’t think Landon is a killer; I just don’t think he’s telling us the truth.”

  “Well,” Sara Beth replied, “thank goodness he's just a liar, then.”

  Sara Beth gritted her teeth as she grabbed her things and left. Joy shook her head. Something about Landon Park made all the women in town absolutely nutty.

  It must have been his magic hands.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Joy was relieved when she ushered her last customers of the day out the door. With a killer on the loose, half the town was tearing itself apart over a silly superstition. The other half was too busy following Landon Park around town. Joy welcomed the prospect of a night at home in her pajamas sleuthing from her laptop. If she managed to dig up any real dirt on Landon Park or his so-called assistant, she might even reward herself with another episode of Crime Brûlée.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do if I go into work tomorrow and Sara Beth is still mad at me,” Joy said to Cheesecake as he sat at his bowl in the kitchen, placidly eating. It wouldn’t have been the first time Sara Beth had given her the cold shoulder over a disagreement. “I'm not jealous of her date with Landon. I just don't want her to get hurt."

  Cheesecake gave no indication that he was listening. Joy scratched him a few times behind the ears, and then bent down and kissed his head before getting up and moving into the living room.

  Joy’s first order of business was to search Tenny on the internet. But right away she ran into a problem. Searching Tenny Morris didn’t turn up much. Most of the results that came up involved an English folk band.

  After scrolling through twelve pages, Joy gave up and accepted that she wasn’t going to get anywhere. Either the name Tenny wasn’t a real name, or it was short for something else. Pulling Cheesecake from the floor and onto her lap, she began brainstorming potential variations on his name.

 
“Help me out here, Cheesecake,” Joy said, pulling up a blank document on her laptop. “Tenny. What could that be short for?”

  Cheesecake did not prove very helpful, but after ten minutes of deep thought she came up with a few possible suggestions:

  - Tennis

  - Tennessee

  - Tony (which Joy had mistaken for Tenny)

  - Tennyson

  Some of her ideas proved more helpful than others. There were about a million Tony Morris's and she wasn’t prepared to sit there for the next dozen hours searching until she found the right one. There was only one Tennessee Morris that came up, and he had apparently been in prison for the last seven years.

  It was when she came to Tennyson Morris, however, that she finally found something.

  The first result that came up took Joy to the web page of a well-known public relations firm, Lightwood & Whistler. Apparently, there was a Tennyson Morris who had worked there for some time as an image management and brand consultant. When she clicked on his bio, there he was—the man she had met earlier that day in the bake shop. With his short stature, lofty expression and trademark fedora, there was no way it could have been anyone else.

  “For over twenty years,” Joy read out loud, “Tennyson Morris has been an acknowledged leader in the world of brand management, working alongside some of America’s most high-profile actors and celebrities to rehabilitate their images on social media. His proven record of success in this area has made him one of the most sought-after brand managers in the nation.”

  Joy smiled, proud that she'd found a piece of information that was worth something.

  Landon Park had cast his role in the charity auction, and his subsequent surprise appearance at the bakery, as an act of goodwill stemming from his own generosity. She remembered him saying how much he enjoyed giving back to those in need. But those high-minded rationales had all been a bunch of baloney. Landon wasn’t going on this date with Sara Beth out of the kindness of his heart. He was just doing it to make himself look better.

  Imagine how Sara Beth would react when she found out her one magic night was nothing but a publicity stunt, cooked up in some high-end office in southern California.

  “I can't tell her this,” Joy said aloud in a despairing tone. Joy took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. But no solution presented itself, and she was still puzzling over her quandary when her phone buzzed. Reaching to pick it up off the coffee table, she saw it was Edith Maxwell.

  “Hi, Edith,” she said. “What’s up?”

  The voice on the other end was incoherent and panicked. “Joy? I need you to meet me at the hospital right away. Something’s happened.”

  Joy froze, fearing the worst. “What’s going on? Who’s hurt?”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Edith replied. “All I know is that Noelle Grant called me and said to come to the hospital. Said she was in trouble. She said the paramedics had to rush her to the emergency room. I think it might have something to do with that darn ruby broach.”

  “Edith, listen to me,” Joy said, raising her voice. “Be very careful okay. There are still lots of unanswered questions floating around right now.”

  “I know,” Edith replied. “Listen, dear, Noelle said she wanted me to meet her over there as soon as possible.”

  "Well, I'm coming with you." Joy glanced at the clock. She wasn’t going to have the chance to watch her mystery show, but that could wait for another night. Right now this took precedence. "I will meet you in the lobby."

  CHAPTER NINE

  Joy left the bungalow and dashed to her car. As she raced through the east part of town, she tried to imagine how Noelle might have been hurt and what it might have to do with Raquel’s death. Several possibilities presented themselves. Perhaps whoever had killed Raquel was going down the list of prize-winners and had intended Noelle Grant to be the next victim. Perhaps someone connected to Georgette, or even Georgette herself, was attempting to steal back the ruby broach for some reason.

  She pulled into the parking lot and raced into the hospital lobby where she found Edith standing by the front desk. Edith was wearing a white cotton t-shirt decorated with palm trees, and she clutched a bouquet of white daisies. As they made their way by elevator up to the fifth floor, Joy asked, “What did Noelle say to you over the phone?”

  “All she told me,” Edith responded, “was that something terrible had happened and that we were right about the broach.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Georgette and the rest of the town, apparently," Edith answered. "She says the broach really is cursed and she wishes she had never bought it. Noelle also told me she needed to see me right away.”

  Joy took a deep breath. She had spent the better part of the last two days trying to convince her customers that there was no curse, and now the one person who had been staunchly on her side had been injured while owning it. All the hours she had spent encouraging people to think rationally would be for nothing if even the least superstitious woman in town found out that Noelle Grant was in the hospital.

  Edith led them to a room at the end of the fifth-floor where they found Noelle lying in bed wearing a white bandage around her upper thigh. The moment she saw her, Edith let out a noise of alarm that was somewhere between a squeak and a yelp. Running up to the side of the bed and taking her by the hand, Edith said, “Noelle, are you okay? Who did this to you?”

  “It’s not a question of who, but what,” Noelle replied. “I knew when I first set my eyes on that ruby broach that there was something uncanny about it. But I had to have it anyway. I should have heeded my first instincts.”

  “What happened to your leg?” Joy asked with a look of concern.

  Noelle gazed down at her leg with a look of discomfort, as though the reminder was just as painful. “I was on my way to bed when I heard something downstairs. It sounded like someone was trying to break into my house through the kitchen window. At first, I just thought I was being paranoid. But then the window shattered.”

  “Did you see anyone?” Edith asked, her face creased with worry.

  “Hold on just a minute, I’m getting to that," Noelle interjected. "My burglar alarm went off, and I ran downstairs to the kitchen. One of the windows had been broken, and there was glass everywhere. As I tried to navigate my way toward the phone on the countertop, I fell and landed on a piece of glass.”

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Edith murmured, raising her hands to her mouth.

  “The doctor says the glass came dangerously close to hitting a major artery. He says I'm lucky to be alive." Noelle gulped as she glanced around the room. “There was one piece of glass standing on its side, upright, with the pointed end jutting into the air like Mt. Everest. It couldn’t have been better positioned if someone had spent an hour trying to get it to stand like that. It was a freak accident. I was very unlucky. I hate that stupid broach.”

  “It’s a shame you couldn’t see who broke your window,” Edith commented.

  “It might have been for the best,” Joy added. “If it was the same person who murdered Raquel, there’s no telling what might have happened. Maybe you're luckier than you think?"

  Noelle scoffed, and the familiar look of impatience returned to her eyes. She pointed to her purse. Edith handed it to her, and she dug around inside it until she found the ruby broach. “As far as I’m concerned,” Noelle said, “Georgette can have it back. I don’t want it anymore. It’s brought nothing but trouble to me since the day I bought it.”

  “Noelle, I’m really sorry,” Edith replied, “but I don’t think Florence is going to give you your money back. You would be better off selling it to someone else—maybe someone out-of-state?”

  “Some people like haunted things,” Joy commented.

  “Anyway,” Noelle continued, “I've spoken to Florence already. She didn’t like my request, but I figure the sooner I can get rid of this broach, the better. She directed me to the form I signed when I bought the thing. I guess all sales ar
e final."

  “It doesn’t get much more straightforward than that, I’m afraid,” Edith said. Scanning the room in search of a chair and not being able to find one, she continued standing next to the bouquet of flowers.

  “I can't believe Florence won't make an exception,” Noelle argued. “I’m planning to get the broach appraised to see how much money I can get for it. In the meantime though, I don't want to be anywhere near that thing.”

  “Shall I just give it back to Georgette?” Edith asked.

  Noelle shot her an icy glare. “After all the money I spent on it? I may not be the smartest woman, but don’t take me for a fool.”

  “So, you want to hang on to it?” Joy asked though she knew she was treading into dangerous waters. “When I spoke to you a few days ago you seemed proud to have won it. Why not just keep it for a while?”

  “Look what has happened, Joy,” Edith muttered, gesturing to Noelle's bandaged thigh. "The girl has a point."

  Noelle nodded. Raising herself a little straighter on her bed, she said, “To be honest with you, I’ve been having a run of bad luck ever since I decided to attend that auction. I don’t know if you can blame the broach for that—can the effects of a curse work that far backward? It’s been at least a year since I’ve seen my ex-boyfriend. I moved out here to the beach in the hopes of starting over. But of course, the moment I signed up for the auction, who do they go and announce will be making a special appearance?”

  Joy looked momentarily dumbstruck. She wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “Noelle, are you saying your ex-boyfriend is—”

  “That’s right,” Noelle said with remarkable calm. “I threw away three whole years of my life dating Landon Park.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  On the following afternoon, for the second time that week, Joy closed the bakery on her own. Sara Beth had left early again to prepare for her date with Landon Park that night. Although Joy could tell she was excited, Sara Beth had remained composed and aloof for much of the work day. Joy didn't know if Sara Beth's distant mood was because she was still mad at her or because she was trying to keep herself calm.