Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Rosie A. Point

  “Yes, very grateful,” she said, eyeing the soup.

  I got up and moved over to the coffee and tea station in the corner of the room. “Can I make you a cup, Sam?”

  “That would be great. That new assistant is running me ragged.”

  “He is?” Butterflies tumbled through my belly. Sam could now afford to hire extra help thanks to her competition winnings, and she needed help in the kitchen in particular. It was me who’d suggested she give Shawn a job. Even though he definitely had a criminal record. Turned out, it had been for breaking into restaurants and stealing food. “Is he behaving himself?”

  “Oh, he’s fantastic,” Sam said. “Amazing in the kitchen. A real talent! It’s just he keeps coming up with these long lists of ingredients for the fancy dishes he wants to cook up.”

  “He’s not stealing any of it, is he?” Bee asked, saying what we were all thinking.

  “Nothing’s gone missing yet. I think he knows that I’m not going to be kind if he messes me around. Besides, we’ve struck an amicable deal. He can work here and get paid for it, even board in one of the smaller guest-rooms, but he’s not allowed to wear black lipstick and nail polish. Scares the guests.”

  “And Trouble,” I said, as the kitten padded into the room.

  The calico bounded onto the bed and settled on Bee’s feet, massaging the end of her comforter. They had struck an uneasy friendship whereby she would allow him to lie on her feet, and he would allow her to, well, have his presence.

  “I’m glad everything’s working out,” I said. “I was afraid that the end of this week would be a disaster.”

  “Me too.” Sam accepted a mug of coffee from me. “But, you know, it’s actually been great. I won the competition, I’ve started planning a remodel for the back porch, and I have a brand new chef who cooks better than I ever could.”

  “Just as long as he doesn’t make me eat anything weird,” Bee said, stifling a yawn.

  I paused, offering Sam a quick wink. “How about some chicken soup?”

  “Ruby Holmes, you and your smart mouth.” Bee tossed a cushion at me and I caught it, hugging it to my chest. “You’re lucky it’s your birthday next week, or I’d have to punish you for your teasing.”

  “I think she learned it from you,” Sam said.

  “Don’t you start.”

  We dissolved into laughter that soon turned to chatter, and for the first time all week, I finally relaxed. Carmel Springs was at peace, Bee would recover, and a cool, fall breeze whispered against the sides of the Oceanside, bringing with it the scent of the sea and the promise of more adventure to come.

  Book 4: Murder and Meringue Cake

  1

  “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you,” Bee sang, swaying from side-to-side in the food truck. The sun had just started setting, casting its oranges and pinks over the Maine sky and the ocean waves. The beach was placid, the benches in front of our truck empty, and the customers lining up to get their last fix of sweet treats.

  We were due to close up ‘shop’ any second, and I anticipated a night of quiet contemplation, Sam’s delicious dinner at the guesthouse, and a bubble bath.

  But Bee had other plans.

  “Happy birthday to you,” my friend continued. “Come on. Everybody sing along.”

  My cheeks grew warm as the last customers of the day—all lined up in front of the Bite-sized Bakery food truck—cheered and clapped and sang along.

  “Bee,” I said, “thank you, but this is not necessary.”

  “Of course, it’s necessary,” she replied. “It’s not every day that a woman turns 37!” Bee grinned and brought out a cupcake on a plate. She had placed a magenta candle in its center, and a cherry offset to one side on top of creamy white frosting. “I hope you don’t mind, folks, but it’s time we celebrate Ruby’s birthday.”

  The customers applauded again.

  “You don’t have to do this.” I couldn’t help smiling though. I had never liked my birthday. I’d never had a particularly memorable one, and I didn’t see any reason to go ahead and celebrate a day when I was another year older.

  Not that there was anything wrong with getting old. At least, I’d started living my dream.

  But this type of thing was important to Bee. The customers huddled closer to the truck’s window, watching as my friend lit the candle for me to blow out. I took a breath and blew out the merry flame to cheers and shouts.

  “Thank you all, so much,” I said, smiling. “And thank you, Bee.”

  “It’s just a cupcake, Rubes. I’ve got a gift for you waiting back at the Oceanside.”

  “You really shouldn’t have.”

  Bee had made up her mind. She wanted to spoil me for my birthday. And I wouldn’t deny her that if it meant so much to her.

  We finished up serving the last of the folks waiting for their treats and coffees or hot chocolates. Each of them wished me a happy birthday then hurried off into the evening, the sky purpling like the lavender dusting on a donut.

  The wind was still, but it was cold enough that I needed a thick coat to keep me warm outside the truck.

  “Are you ready to go?” Bee rubbed her hands together and grinned.

  “Yes, I am,” I replied. “Why?” I tilted my head to one side. “You’re acting strangely.”

  “I’m not. I’m just excited to celebrate your birthday with you,” Bee said, the tip of her nose red. She’d only just recovered from the flu the week before and had a few sniffs to get over still. “And to give you your gift.”

  “Bee, you know you don’t need to go wasting your money on me.” I paid her well—she was a fantastic baker—and we had loads of fun working together. I considered her a good friend, but that didn’t mean I wanted her spending her money on me.

  “You don’t like birthdays, do you?” Bee asked, as we shut the side window on the food truck and made our way around to the front of it. We got inside, and I sighed, shutting my door and then clipping my seatbelt into place.

  “What gives you that idea?” I asked.

  “Oh, maybe it’s the fact that you look more sad than happy. And you went pink as a peach when we sang happy birthday to you.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not used to all that attention. And I’ve never really celebrated my birthday before.”

  “You haven’t?” Bee was incredulous. “Not even when you were little?”

  “Sometimes I’d have cake, but it was never a big deal. My parents had other things to worry about like finances. Or deciding whether they wanted to stay together or not.”

  “Eek. Sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” I said. “We don’t talk about boring stuff like this.”

  “It’s not boring, Ruby.” Bee clipped on her seatbelt. “But if you don’t want to do anything for your birthday, that’s fine. We don’t have to.” She shifted and brought her phone out of her pocket.

  “No. Let’s do what you wanted to do. That sounds fun. Different.” The last time I’d celebrated a birthday, it had been with my ex-fiancé, Daniel, and that hadn’t exactly gone to plan either. In that, he’d never turned up for the celebration.

  Instead, he’d disappeared. And the only way I’d discovered he was still OK and alive was through his family. But he didn’t want to see me again.

  I pressed my thumb to my ring finger and clicked my tongue. It was past time I forgot about him and all that silliness. “Come on,” I said, “let’s find out what Sam’s cooked us for dinner. And then you can give me a birthday gift.”

  Bee slipped her phone back into her pocket and clapped her hands. “Perfect. I’m pretty nervous, though.”

  “You, nervous?”

  “I know. So unlike me.” She gave me her signature gap-toothed smile, tucking a few strands of silver hair behind her ears. “It must be the flu. It weakened not just my immune system but my emotional state. I wonder if they make medicine for that.”

  I laughed and steered the food truck down the roa
d toward the Oceanside. I parked out front and frowned, peering up at the guesthouse. The lights were off. “That’s strange. I thought Sam would be home.”

  “Maybe she forgot it was your birthday,” Bee said. “She might have gone out to the Lobster Shack now that it’s reopened.”

  “Heavens, I wonder if they’re finally serving lobster there again.”

  “From what I heard, Benjamin’s finally squashed his beef with the owner of the wharf. And that means lobster rolls,” Bee said, licking her lips. “Let’s go inside and see if she’s there. If not, we can always go catch up with her at the Lobster Shack.”

  “That sounds good.”

  We got out of the truck, and Bee charged ahead of me, up the steps of the guesthouse. My frown deepened. It was so terribly quiet, and it sort of gave me the creeps. Halloween had been over a week ago. The decorations had been taken down, and there hadn’t been any other murders or incidents in Carmel Springs since then.

  Bee unlocked the front door and we entered.

  “Goodness, it’s dark,” I said, stumbling in after her. “Usually Sam leaves the hall lights on.”

  “Here,” Bee said and grabbed hold of my arm. She guided me a few steps into the guesthouse. “Almost. Just a few more steps.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  The lights flicked on. At least twenty smiling faces greeted me followed by a roar of, “Surprise!”

  I let out a cry of surprise, my hands flying to my face. Shock was quickly replaced by pleasure and excitement. My heart pounded away and a giggle escaped me.

  “Happy birthday,” my friends chorused. Bee clapped and hopped up and down on the spot next to me.

  “A surprise par—” But I cut off, my gaze shifting to the long table where the gifts had been gathered. The gifts and something else. Someone else.

  Another scream broke through the shouts and applause. And then another and another as the people in the room saw exactly what I had.

  Detective Jones’ body, draped across the sparkling wrapped gifts, the end of a silver knife sticking out of his back.

  2

  I sat down heavily in one of the armchairs—they had been pushed to the sides of the room to provide space for the party. Instead, they’d provided space for a dead body. Of a police officer.

  I held a hand over my eyes to keep from looking at Jones’ corpse. The screaming had stopped a while ago, but I didn’t dare look. I was squeamish at the best of times, but this was beyond the pale. A police officer, stabbed and left on top of my birthday presents?

  This is why I don’t like birthday surprises. It was such a ridiculous thought I nearly laughed.

  A whooping siren from outside brought me back to reality with a rather unpleasant bump. I dropped my hand and took in the room instead of the body.

  People had backed up or filed toward the exit, though no one seemed to have left yet. They couldn’t since Bee had taken it upon herself to block the doorway. “Nobody leaves,” she said, “until the cops get here and interview everyone. The murderer might still be in this room.”

  Shocked cries rang out again. “You can’t seriously believe that,” said Kayla, one of the other guests at the Oceanside, pressing gloved fingers to her lips. The Carlingtons had already slipped on their coats.

  “You never know,” Bee replied, tapping the end of her nose. “It’s always better to be safe. Now, I’m going to need you all to back away from the body and touch nothing in the living room. It’s imperative we keep the scene as clean as possible. Stand out here in the hall. Ruby, that includes you.”

  “Good heavens.” Millie, the editor of the local paper and our good friend, stopped next to me on her way out of the living room. “She’s bossy, isn’t she?”

  “That’s Bee.” I got up and joined the line of folks filing into the entryway and the bottom floor hall that wound back toward the rooms, some of them still unoccupied. I wound up standing next to Sam, the owner of the place.

  Sam twirled strands of dark hair around her fingers then chewed on the ends. It was a nervous tick I’d never seen before, but, of course, she was freaked. A man had just been found dead in her guesthouse. This would be terrible for business.

  Poor Sam, she’d been through a lot over the past few months. Not long ago, one of her guests had actually been murdered, though not in the guesthouse itself.

  “It’s going to be OK, Sam,” I whispered, patting her on the back.

  A short, sharp meow sounded between my ankles, and Trouble, the resident calico kitten, lifted himself onto his hind legs and rubbed his little face against my calf. He soon tottered to Sam, who swept him into her arms and kissed the top of his furry head.

  “See, the cops are here,” I said, and my mouth went a little dry.

  The cops. Detective Jones had been a cop. And he’d also been the one and only ‘enemy’ I had in town. He’d spent a lot of time investigating me, arresting me, and trying to pin murders on me instead of finding out who’d truly committed the crimes he’d been assigned.

  And now he’s dead in the guesthouse. At your surprise party. On your birthday.

  This didn’t look good. In fact, it looked kinda like… did I dare even think it?

  Detective Martin, who had been Jones’ partner, entered and thanked Bee for ensuring folks didn’t mess up the crime scene. People were split off into groups to have their statements taken, and Bee finally came over and joined me.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “This was definitely not how I pictured your birthday party playing out.”

  “You and me both.” Shoot, all I’d wanted was a bubble bath and a lobster roll. A cupcake too. “Who do you think could have done this?”

  Bee shook her head, as Detective Martin emerged from the living room, handsome, pale, and clearly not happy about losing his partner. “Your guess is as good as mine. I mean, think about it. It’s not like anyone in Carmel Springs liked the guy.”

  “Bee,” I hissed.

  “We certainly didn’t. Millie didn’t. Sam didn’t. Shoot, even Shawn didn’t.” Shawn was the new chef and assistant at the Oceanside.

  Bee was right, even though it made my skin crawl thinking that there was a murderer on the loose again. Someone who had the audacity to kill a homicide detective. Though, interestingly, he hadn’t been in uniform at the time.

  “Did you invite him to my surprise party?”

  “What? Who?” Bee asked.

  “Detective Jones. Was he meant to be a guest?”

  “No, of course not,” Bee replied. “I don’t know what he’s doing here. For Pete’s sake, I wouldn’t have invited the man if you’d asked me to do it.”

  I nodded. “Then what was he doing here? At the guesthouse. And in plain clothes? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Bee brought her cellphone out, drawing me away from the stragglers in the hall and the cops who had split up with people to take their statements. “I took photos of the scene just after it happened. Let me show you something.”

  “I really don’t want to relive that ‘surprise’ moment, Bee.”

  “No, no, not that.” Bee tapped on her screen and opened an image devoid of the dead body. “See? This was taken half an hour before we got back to the guesthouse. Sam sent it to me to let me know that they were ready for the big surprise.”

  “He’s not there,” I said, scanning the people, my new Carmel Springs friends, standing around the long table covered in gifts. “With the partygoers, I mean. Detective Jones isn’t there.”

  “Exactly. And he’s not on the table either.” Bee shut off the screen as Detective Martin approached, lowering her voice to a hurried whisper. “That means that either someone killed him during the waiting period or put him in there when the lights had been shut off in preparation for your arrival.”

  The thought turned my stomach. One of the guests, or even someone else who might have access to the guesthouse tonight, had dragged the body in and put it on the table.

  �
�Hello, Miss Holmes, Miss Pine.” Detective Martin halted in front of us, his notepad out. “Mind if I ask you ladies a few questions?”

  “Go ahead,” Bee replied.

  “We’re sorry for your loss,” I put in.

  Detective Martin nodded by way of thanks but gave nothing more away. He kept his expression impassive as he walked us through questions about where we’d been, whether we had an alibi and what exactly we’d seen.

  “I last saw Detective Jones this morning,” I said, while Martin took notes. “He came by the food truck to get a cookie.”

  “He did?” Bee asked. “Where was I?”

  “You ran out to use the ladies’ room on the pier,” I replied. “Now that I think of it, he was acting a little different.”

  “How so?” Bee and Martin asked at the same time. The handsome detective gave her a deadpan stare. Bee clicked her tongue. “I’m just curious,” she said.

  “He’s usually mean. And this morning he wasn’t. I was too busy to think much about it at the time. He simply bought his cookie and stood near the benches, staring at the truck and eating his treat.”

  The detective scribbled the information down. “Is there anything else you can think of? Anything strange or out of place regarding Jones or even the guesthouse?”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek, casting my thoughts back. “No, nothing.”

  “Nada,” Bee agreed.

  Martin withdrew a card from his pocket and handed it over. “Let me know if you think of anything else. Or if anything strange happens around here.” And then he was gone, and I was left with his card, the scent of woodsy cologne on the air, and a hunger to figure out exactly who might have done this.

  Jones’ death made me a suspect. Bee too. And if Sam’s guesthouse got in trouble… well, we certainly wouldn’t let that happen.

  3

  I yawned and blocked it with the back of my hand. I’d already had five cups of strong coffee this morning, but they hadn’t helped one bit. Twice this morning, I’d already given out wrong orders or incorrect change. Not exactly good for business.