Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Rosie A. Point

  “Oh right! She told me about your cupcakes and cookies,” Gregory said, his demeanor altering, right away. “She loved them. Told me they were the best cookies she’d ever tasted.”

  Bee cleared her throat. “Well, that’s very kind of her.”

  A sad silence followed. Poor Theresa.

  But just because Gregory’s being nice doesn’t mean he’s innocent.

  “You should come by to the truck this week,” I said. “We’ll be opening again soon, you know, after the holiday, and we’ll give you a few cookies and cupcakes on the house. Won’t we, Bee?”

  “Sure thing. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  “Thank you,” Gregory said, and he seemed genuinely grateful. “I’m not great at cooking and money’s been tight around here ever since Theresa passed. You know, she was the one with the job.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You know, if you’re in need of work, you should check the listings board at the General Store.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine. I’m just waiting to hear from the executor of her will to get hold of me. Theresa left her assets to me.” He ran his fingers over his bald spot. “I hate that Theresa’s gone, but she did right by me when she put me in her will. Obviously, nothing will replace what she meant to me as a sister.”

  “It sounds like you had a great relationship. Good for you,” I said, leading him as gently as I could.

  “Oh, I guess you could say that. Sure. Theresa and I had only recently reconciled, about a year ago, and she’d been telling me to come stay with her for ages. She was alone, you know, and I think that was difficult for her. That’s why she got that stupid cat.”

  I struggled to keep a straight face. First the will and now this: he didn’t want to look after his dead sister’s cat? Horrible.

  “Oh, it’s fine,” Gregory said, waving a hand at me. “I put food out for it and everything, but it’s going to be an outdoor cat now. That’s all. Finally.”

  “Wasn’t it before?”

  “No.” A muscle in Gregory’s jaw twitched. “That’s the only thing Theresa and I consistently disagreed o. That cat is a plague. It used to watch me. And it used my bed as a toilet.”

  “Goodness.”

  “Exactly.” Gregory offered me a quick smile. “Anyway, nice talking to you. Thanks for coming by. I’ll definitely come out to your truck sometime soon for those cakes!” He gave a final wave and marched off back into the house. The door clapped closed.

  “That was… interesting,” Bee said.

  “Is that what we’re calling it now?” I joined her back on the sidewalk. “I’d have called it suspicious.”

  “Written into his sister’s will, strange change in aesthetic at the house according to neighbors, the cat didn’t like Gregory.” Bee ticked off on her fingers. “Animals usually have a great sense for people, you know.”

  “Oh, I know.” The kitten at the guesthouse, Trouble, had helped me take down a murderer, just by his reaction to the man in question.

  “And he doesn’t like cats. That’s another serial killer trait if I ever saw one.”

  “Jeffrey Dahmer liked cats.”

  “How, in the name of all that is donut, do you know that?” Bee asked.

  “It’s Halloween. I thought you liked being creeped out.” I laughed at her expression. “I saw it in a documentary once. Oh, all right, I’m sorry for bringing him up. Back to donuts. And the cat-hater in question.”

  “Never trust a cat-hater,” Bee grumbled.

  I peered up at the front house, noting how all the curtains were drawn, shut for what? To avoid people looking in?

  Gregory was definitely a person of interest now. He had argued with Theresa, he had only just moved in, and he’d seemed fine today as opposed to when he’d come for dinner at Sam’s. What did that mean? Had something or someone at the guesthouse upset him? Or was there another secret he had to keep?

  “You’re staring off into space, Rubes.”

  “Right. Sorry. I’m considering the options. Let’s get back to the Oceanside.” The morning was still young and there would be plenty of time to contemplate Gregory’s connection to his sister’s murder. If there was one in the first place.

  We headed off down the street, taking a detour down Main Street for the sake of it, occasionally waving at people we recognized from the truck. Some of them stopped us to ask when we’d be opening up again, and it filled me with warm, knowing that we mattered to the townsfolk now.

  They cared about us. And I cared about them.

  Discovering who had murdered Theresa was more important than ever.

  11

  The Oceanside Guesthouse looked just as fabulous in the morning light as it had the night before. It was a Sunday, and the last day of the awesome Halloween celebrations. Folks had dressed up in their costumes and walked down to the pier for the grand reopening of the Lobster Shack.

  I definitely wouldn’t be going to the restaurant any time soon—my last experience with the place hadn’t been great, especially since it had involved a killer. And if the same man still ran the restaurant that would mean no lobster rolls for the foreseeable future.

  Together, Bee and I entered the guesthouse to the welcoming scent of fresh-brewed coffee and baking cookies. Chocolate-chip by my nose.

  “Smells like we’re in time for brunch!” I rubbed my palms together, both to warm them after the fall chill and to prepare for the deliciousness that would surely follow.

  Trouble padded out of the living room and meowed at me. He wound between my legs, purring and rubbing against me in greeting. I loved this little ‘hello’ from him. He seemed to have taken a liking to me.

  That was lovely, as I’d always wanted a cat, but my ex, Daniel, would never have allowed it. Now, I couldn’t stay in one town long enough to have a pet or rather to let a cat own me. Having Trouble around was still lovely.

  We entered the living room and waved to the Carlingtons in the corner where they sat sipping from mugs and nibbling on muffins.

  Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway bearing a smile. “Good morning,” she sang. “Would you like some choc-chip muffins?”

  “And two coffees if it’s not too much trouble,” Bee said.

  “Sure!”

  Sam returned with our muffins and coffees a second later—I’d been wrong about the cookies, but the muffins were just as good with gooey chocolate pieces inside, still warm from the oven. Sam left us to eat, while Trouble curled in front of the fire.

  Bee snagged a newspaper from a table over and set to reading while she ate, picking at the muffin with her fingertips. “Of course,” she said, “they’re already making grand deductions about who it might be and what actually happened. Listen to this… strangulation before drowning.”

  “Eugh.” I pushed my plate away. “That’s off-putting.”

  “Yes, it is. But it does give us more information.”

  “How so?”

  “Don’t you think it’s interesting that Franny had that fight with Theresa in the General Store? That looked pretty intense. Physical. And clearly, whoever killed Theresa had no problem getting physical.”

  There were suspects galore again. Could it be that Theresa’s long lost brother had had something to do with it? Gregory now had an official motive to my mind, but why would he have done it in that particular way. He was an obvious suspect. Would he risk murdering his sister so soon after he had moved into her home? And what was with the lack of Halloween decorations and the sudden dilapidation?

  And then there was Franny, who definitely appeared to have a motive: rage. And what about Shawn Clark? Could there have been a reason for him to have done it?

  “I wonder if Theresa was rich,” I said, sipping my coffee. “After all, if she was, there might have been a motivation. Could someone have robbed her? Perhaps, things got out of hand?”

  “Hmm. Her house looked broken down, but, on the flip side, Gregory seemed happy at the prospect of getting money from the will. I don’t
know, actually,” Bee replied, turning the page, “but I do know that strangulation is quite personal. I mean, it’s not like a gunshot or something.”

  “I guess.” I pulled a face.

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, just that, apparently, there’s an award ceremony tomorrow. For the Halloween Day Competition! Oh, that’s exciting for Sam. I hope she wins.” Bee looked around the living room, smiling. “We’ll have to go.”

  “Yes, we will,” I said and finished off the last of my coffee.

  Halloween was on its way out. No doubt, the Christmas decorations would be up in the stores within minutes. I could almost hear the Michael Buble songs. It was strange to me that the stores seemed to forget all about Thanksgiving and move right onto Christmas.

  I chewed on my bottom lip, peering around at the decorations. “I wonder if there’s any other evidence we can find,” I said. “There must be something we can discover. Maybe, we should talk to Millie again.”

  Bee nodded. “We’re not going to have much more time to think about this anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we’ll be leaving town soon. Unless…” Bee leaned in, pressing her empty muffin plate aside.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Do you want to stay in Maine for Christmas? Or would you prefer to go back to New York to see family and the like?”

  “Wow,” I murmured. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Honestly, I don’t have any family to go back to at the moment. My mom and I haven’t spoken years. But what about you? Don’t you have someone you want to see over the holiday season?”

  Bee shook her silver-haired head. “Not a one. I haven’t had the best track record at making friends.”

  “Until now,” I replied, smiling.

  “Until now,” Bee agreed.

  Trouble meowed and darted into the dining area. He took a leap onto my lap and settled in it, purring and massaging with his furry paws.

  The Carlingtons got up from their table and headed out with the intent of taking a walk down to the pier, and Bee stifled a yawn behind her coffee cup. We’d had a late night last night, celebrating the Halloween festivities.

  “I think I should stretch my legs,” I said. “It will give me time to mull things over. Do you want to come along for a walk, Bee?”

  “No, thank you. I think I’ll curl up in an armchair by the fire and read, um, the paper.”

  “Bee, I’d better not catch you with another of those scary stories. You know they’ve been tiring you out.”

  “You won’t catch me,” she replied with a wink.

  I laughed, rose from the table and thanked Sam in the kitchen for the delicious brunch. I gave Trouble one last scratch on the head then started out for my walk.

  Hopefully, the sea-kissed air would wake me up and give me some fresh ideas about the case.

  12

  I strolled along the road, away from the guesthouse and toward the Chowder Hut. It would be closed on a Sunday, but it wasn’t like I planned on visiting and chomping down on a couple of their famously crunchy breadsticks. Though, that would be nice.

  Shoot, I’d just had a muffin and I was already hungry again.

  Come on, Ruby, think. Whodunit?

  I broke down the suspect list in my mind again, but there were no answers forthcoming. Whether I liked it or not, I didn’t have any other leads or evidence. The only hint that anything had been wrong was that Shawn Clark, guy, the dark-haired and makeup wearing young man who’d stolen the décor at Halloween.

  But stealing and murder were too different crimes and not necessarily links.

  Oof, maybe I’m in too deep. Good heavens, I don’t need to solve this crime. It’s not threatening the truck or anything.

  I’d grown attached to some of the people in Carmel Springs. Now that the suspicion had been lifted from our shoulders, people in town had warmed to us. Millie was so sweet and Sam was a treasure, and all the guests had been wonderful so far. Even Mayor Jacobsen was kind and jovial—he’d talked loudly about how delicious the food was at the guesthouse and how the decorations were fantastic.

  The thought of folks in town being afraid because of the murder upset me. And it didn’t sit right that there were secrets lurking in this cozy town. It was my background—a terrible habit to get into, solving mysteries and uncovering the truth.

  Hadn’t I quit my job to avoid exactly that?

  The thoughts and my feet carried me along the winding road toward the rocky outlook where the Chowder Hut sat. Next to it, there was a lookout point that would give me a view of the ocean.

  I drew level with the restaurant, and a flicker of motion caught my eye.

  I paused. What was that?

  The Chowder Hut was definitely closed. There were no cars parked out front and the windows were dark.

  A sharp tinkle of glass breaking came next, and I froze, my palms growing sweaty.

  Someone was breaking into the restaurant. It had to be…

  I crept toward the source of the noise, pulling my cellphone from my pocket. I unlocked the screen, my finger hovering over the touchscreen. I could easily call Detective Jones. I had his number thanks to the previous run-ins we’d had with him.

  But a break-in didn’t necessarily equal anything related to the murder. So why call him? It would be better just to call 911 and report the incident. The dispatcher would send out regular cops and I wouldn’t have to see Jones at all.

  Shoot, it might not have been a break-in at all. It might have been a bird crashing into the sliding glass doors.

  There was only one way to find out.

  I walked around the side of the restaurant, past the wooden walls that rattled in the wind, and the windows that looked in on the friendly interior, complete with buoys hanging from the walls.

  Another shuffle of noise reached my ears, and this time, I did hit the button to summon the cops.

  I rounded the corner and spotted the bottom half of a human being—legs ensconced in blackened jeans—sticking out a window. They kicked and struggled. The intruder had gotten caught on the sill.

  “Hey!” I cried, dropping my phone and running forward. For once, I wasn’t frozen in fear—perhaps, it was the thought of the burglar getting hurt on the glass that had driven me into it. By the time the idiocy of my actions registered in my mind, it was already too late.

  My hands hooked around the guy’s legs and I brought him backward. Using the moves I’d learned in my karate training, I incapacitated the guy, leveraging his weight against him. And it was a man. A young man. I caught his hands behind his back and held them there, pressing him into the ground on his stomach.

  He struggled and cried out through the balaclava covering his face. “Let me go!” he whined. “Let me go.”

  “No.” I couldn’t reach my phone, but the screen was still lit up. My call had connected. I shouted out my address and the situation, not daring to release my captive in case he somehow got the better of me. This was ridiculous. What had gotten into me?

  I’d never been one to run toward danger.

  Too late to go back now. But who is it? Who’s the criminal?

  I ripped the balaclava from the man’s head.

  Shawn Clark glared up at me, the dark kohl around his eyes stark against his pale skin.

  “I suppose you think this was clever?” Jones snarled, his hands on his hips. He was at least a head shorter than me, and I was by no means a tall woman. “I told you, Holmes, I told you not to interfere with my investigations.”

  I blinked.

  Shawn had already been taken away in a police cruiser, and it was just my luck that it was Jones who had turned up to the crime scene with his partner Martin.

  “I wasn’t interfering in anything,” I said. “I was just walking by and I happened to see him here.”

  “And you expect me to believe that? I know you were following him.”

  “I most definitely was not. Why would I be?” />
  Jones’ already thin lips drew into an even thinner line. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Holmes. I know what your kind is like.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Likely, he meant people who had come for the tourist season in Maine. Once, he’d called me a leaf peeper. “I swear, this was just a coincidence.” But it was mightily intriguing that Jones thought I was interfering because Shawn was involved. Did that mean that Shawn was an official person of interest in Theresa’s murder? “Look, Detective Jones, I have no interest interfering. Why would I? I—”

  “That’s enough.” Jones drew his hand through the air in a slicing motion. “I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen, and I was right to think it’d go down.”

  “Go down?” Bee would’ve had a sarcastic comment to counter that statement, but I was fresh out. My palms were sweat-streaked, I’d just apprehended a criminal and made a seriously poor judgment to handle it myself. What if he’d had a knife? Or a gun? What if he’d overpowered me?

  “You’re coming with me,” Jones said, crunching forward across the grit at the back of the restaurant. He took hold of my arm. “I’ve had enough of you.”

  “What? No.” I drew my arm from his. “If you need a statement from me, just take it here. I don’t have to go down to the station.”

  “Oh yeah, you do,” Jones said, a cold glint in his beady eyes.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you’re under arrest for interfering in an ongoing police investigation.” Jones flashed a smile. “I warned you, Holmes, but you wouldn’t listen. Now, you’re going to pay the price for your gossipy, interfering ways.”

  I had no choice but to go with him, that or risk having another charge smacked on top of the first—resisting arrest. My mouth had gone dry and, heavens, my brain had too.

  13

  Much to Detective Jones’ eternal anger and my equaling relief, he didn’t have any right to hold me for longer than 24 hours. There simply wasn’t enough evidence to hold me for longer than that, or even to charge me with interfering with an ongoing investigation.