Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Rosie A. Point

  My thoughts whirred, but Bee placed a hand on my arm and stopped them. She squeezed, and we slowly backed out of the alley and back into the—

  “Oof!” I struck something solid behind us.

  Oh no. My insides mushed into jelly, and my cheeks flushed hot. I didn’t have to look over at Bee to know the same had happened to her.

  Because it wasn’t a wall I’d walked into. It was Detective Martin.

  16

  Detective Martin adjusted his beanie, glaring at us and channeling the anger his old partner, Jones, had always had when it came to Bee and me. “What do we have here? Out for a stroll, ladies?”

  “Good morning, detective,” I squeaked. “We were just—”

  “Snooping.”

  “No, um…”

  “There’s no point in denying it,” Martin said, running a gloved hand over his stubbly chin. “I watched Mr. Babcock enter the alleyway way and you follow him.”

  Well, darn. How were we supposed to get out of this one? “We were just, um, going to ask him about our turkey order,” I said.

  “Yeah.” Bee clicked her fingers. “Our turkey order. We ordered a turkey from the butchery for the Oceanside’s Christmas feast, and it hasn’t been delivered yet.”

  Martin looked on the brink of rolling his eyes at us. “Ladies, you and I both know that’s not true. Now, I’m not here to lock you away for interfering. I was at the Oceanside a half an hour ago looking for you, and Sam told me that you’d be out here.”

  “Oh.” Of course, she’d told him. They were dating, now. And we hadn’t made it a secret that we’d be in town, hanging around.

  “Your food truck is parked across from the butchery, but you’re not open for business,” Martin continued, “so please don’t insult my intelligence by trying to squirm out of this one.”

  “Fine,” I said, thought Bee shook her head at me. “Fine, we were just here because we wanted to find out more about him. He’s suspicious. He has a motive for the murder, and his partner and friend, Greta is—”

  The detective lifted a hand. “That’s enough,” he said. “There’s no reason for you to be checking this out. There never was. But particularly not now.”

  “Why?” Bee asked.

  And why had he been looking for us in the first place? It wasn’t as if we’d done anything illegal, that he knew of. Sheesh, what had I become? Flouting the laws because I was desperate to uncover the truth about the murder.

  “Because the murderer has already been apprehended,” Martin said.

  I sucked in a breath. “What? How is that possible?”

  “Contrary to your beliefs, Miss Holmes, the Carmel Springs Police Department is capable of solving crimes. Even ones as severe as this one.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t capable.” But I’d thought we were stumped, so surely the police had to be.

  “Who is it?” Bee asked.

  Detective Martin drew his lips into a thin line. Apparently, releasing that information to us, even now, bit at him. He’d changed since Jones’ death. He was still handsome and tall, but he looked a lot older, as if the strain of running things had taken its toll.

  “Ava Jacobsen.”

  “What?” Bee gasped.

  “No. It can’t be,” I said. “She didn’t have a motive. And she was right there in the crowd before the tree lighting. And she was so upset.” Of course, we had suspected her at first, but none of our leads had brought us closer toward her as a person of interest.

  “Well, it is.”

  “How did you come to that conclusion?” I asked.

  Detective Martin sighed. “Look, I’m not obligated to answer any questions, but I know you two will keep poking around if I don’t tell you the truth. Ava’s fingerprints were found on the murder weapon.”

  “What, the string of lights?” I asked. “But surely you must have found other prints. I mean, isn’t it possible that—?”

  “Trust that the police know what they’re doing, Holmes,” Martin said, stiffly. “The murder investigation is closed. If you have any complaints… well, shelve them.”

  My jaw dropped. The detective had never been this blunt before.

  “Which brings me to my next piece of news,” he said. “Your Christmas party is back on.”

  “Really? The town’s open again? For celebration and caroling?” I asked.

  “Correct. Now, why don’t you two get back in your food truck and go to the Oceanside? It’s been a long morning, and I don’t want to have to throw you in jail for trespassing or stalking. All right?”

  Bee was so red in the face, she looked ready to pop—it wasn’t from embarrassment. She fumed. And I did too. The whole Ava thing didn’t make sense to me.

  “Go on,” Detective said, gesturing back toward the truck.

  “You can’t just tell us to leave like that.” But Bee started off across the street regardless. The minute we were out of earshot, the grumbling started. “That man! I can’t believe he thinks he’s so smart. I don’t buy this for a second, Ruby. They’re missing crucial evidence, I’m sure of it.”

  “But we do get to do the party, at least.” It was my effort at cheering her up.

  We got into the food truck and belted ourselves in.

  “What do you think?” Bee asked. “That he’s right?”

  “No. I don’t know.” I drummed my fingertips on the steering wheel. “But I do think there’s something we can do to find out.”

  “What?” Bee asked.

  “Go see Ava in jail. I mean, she’s surely allowed to have a visitor or two, right? So, let’s go talk to her and hear her side of the story. If she did it, then we can just let it go. The case will be solved, and we can focus on setting up for the party and celebrating Christmas with our friends.”

  “But what if it’s not?” Bee asked, her silvery eyebrows two slashes above her hazel gaze.

  “Then we do what we’ve always done with this type of thing. We investigate.” I’d been dubious about doing exactly that, but it was clear to me now that there was more to be uncovered.

  If Detective Martin refused to see it, it was up to us to get to the bottom of the mystery.

  Even if that meant getting in trouble again. And possibly ruining Christmas.

  17

  Ava was forced to wear handcuffs as she sat across from us in the tiny visitor’s room at the police station. The room itself was well-lit, with chairs that weren’t exactly comfy, but were fine, and a melamine-topped table holding three bottles of water.

  The fact that we weren’t on a visitor’s list hadn’t been a problem, simply because Ava hadn’t been transferred to an actual prison yet. She was still in the holding cells at the station itself. I didn’t doubt there were cameras all over the place here.

  That was fine.

  If Ava had done it and admitted it, no problem. And if she hadn’t… well, hopefully, she’d give us some clue as to who might have.

  “I can’t thank you enough for coming to see me,” Ava said, her eyes bloodshot and her cheeks splotchy. Her blonde hair was tied back but hadn’t been washed in a few days. They’d only arrested Ava that morning, but she hadn’t been looking after herself.

  Who could blame her?

  Maybe she did do it.

  What an awful thought to have. But it was a possibility. I had to bear that in mind. It wouldn’t help the investigation if I went in biased.

  Ava shifted under the scrutiny from Bee—my bestie in baking sat on the seat next to mine, making direct eye contact with the suspected murderess. Not, suspected, now, but accused.

  “How are you, Ava?” I asked, to distract from Bee’s glare.

  “I’ve been better,” Ava whispered, choking it out. “I’m grateful I have visitors, but it’s been such a difficult time. I don’t know how I’m going to handle everything. I mean, I have money for a lawyer but this is just… I would never have hurt Ian. He was the love of my life.”

  There were no tears, and the way she spoke was
ever-so-slightly mechanical. Like she was sure she had to say that. How strange.

  “Listen, why would I have murdered him?” Ava asked, shifting to the edge of her seat. “And if I had, why would I have been so upset that I moved out of the house? I loved my husband.” Once again, every word sounded right, but the way they were delivered was empty.

  None of the sorrow that had been there at the beginning of the week was present. Had she been faking it before?

  “And now,” Ava said, letting out a choice sniffle, “now everyone’s going to think that I’m a terrible person.” Her voice cracked and she finally showed a few tears. “But I’m not. I wouldn’t hurt a fly. I can imagine that it’s going to be so difficult going forward. People will judge me. I’ll get hate mail. I’ll…”

  “You’re sure you had no part in this?” Bee asked, gruffly.

  “Of course not,” Ava said, in a low whine. “I would never. Look, please, I know you two are good at investigating these types of things. Can you help me? Please?”

  “Help you how?” Bee asked.

  “Clear my name.”

  Bee and I exchanged a glance. We’d come here under the impression that Ava was innocent, but now, I wasn’t so sure. What if we helped and somehow got her out of prison when she was the culprit? But no, that wasn’t right. We’d only wind up finding the truth.

  “We might be able to help you,” I said, after a moment. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to do something like this to your husband?”

  “Yes,” Ava hissed. “I know exactly who did it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, absolutely. It was Clayton Babcock,” she replied. “I mentioned him before, remember? I’m convinced now. He was out for blood after my husband won the election. And I just know he had access to the staging area for the tree lighting ceremony. And he would’ve had access to the strings of lights.” Ava shook her head. “Ian was the one who brought all the lights from home to give to the tree. That’s why my fingerprints were on it. That’s the only reason.”

  “You really believe that Clayton did this?” I asked.

  “Yes, totally. He was in a rage after my husband won. He even closed down the butchery for a whole day. There was an uproar afterward. There was almost a riot.”

  We’d been in Carmel Springs in November, and I didn’t remember any riot. “Are people that desperate for meat?”

  “You bet they are. Especially around this time of year,” Ava said.

  “I don’t remember any riot.” Bee folded her arms. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive. And the Babcock was Ian’s sworn enemy. Surely, you’ve heard that?”

  “Yes, that I’ve heard,” I said.

  “Well there you have it,” Ava replied. “He’s the one who did it. Trust me. Look, all you’d have to do is follow him around and you’ll find out the truth. Trust me.”

  She’d said to trust her twice. That didn’t implicitly instill much trust in me.

  “Please,” Ava said, her bottom lip quivering. “You’ve got to get me out of here. I don’t want to go to prison.”

  What about finding your husband’s killer? Doesn’t that matter?

  “We’ll do what we can,” Bee said, after a second. “But if you know anything else, you have to tell us. Otherwise, we can’t help.”

  “I don’t know anything else. It was Clayton. That’s all I can tell you. It was definitely Clayton. He used to get into fights with Ian. He would call the office and leave snarky messages. I’m sure you can get hold of them. Maybe that can be the evidence you need.” The words rolled from her tongue. “What do you think? Can you bring him down?”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” I said, slowly.

  “Yes, no matter what that means.” Bee got up, and I did too. “It was nice seeing you again, Ava.” We left the tiny visiting room and filed out past the dispatcher behind her desk. A few officers passed us by and greeted, either with a smile or nod.

  Outside, we stopped next to the food truck, and I rooted around in my handbag looking for my keys. “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I think maybe Ava did it after all. Did you see the way she was talking about him? She was practically emotionless. She didn’t seem to care at all.”

  “Then why did she cry at the beginning of this week?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” Bee tapped the end of her nose. “But we can’t go back to the butchery without getting in trouble. I bet Detective Martin has his ear to the ground, and if he warned Clayton about us…”

  “Right. So what do we do?”

  “The only thing we can do,” Bee replied, trying for a smile. “Decorate for Christmas. Maybe one of the committee members will know something.”

  18

  Three days had passed since our visit to Ava, and we’d found a good ol’ fat nothing in that time. If not for Bee’s fabulous baking in preparation for the Christmas party that evening, I would have been downright depressed.

  No one could be sad after tasting one of her personalized miniature Christmas cakes. Ripe and sugared cherries had been used in the cake with a delicious and light vanilla frosting that dripped over the sides.

  I feasted on one and admired the hard work that we’d all put in to get the town hall ready for the party that would start in a little over an hour. Most of the decorating committee had cleared out, including Jerry and Misty, who had stayed for as long as possible before heading off to get dressed for the event.

  Now, it was only me, snacking on Christmas cakes, Bee, who had decided there was too little mistletoe in the hall and more was needed, and Millie, who’d stopped by with armfuls of tinsel and the excuse that she needed some time away from Greta Gould.

  Greta. Babcock.

  The murder.

  It didn’t feel right. Ava had acted strangely when we’d visited her, yes, but did that mean she was guilty of the crime? Maybe not. But the cops—

  “Hey, Ruby,” Millie called, teetering on the top rung of a ladder, “would you mind giving me a hand, dear, if you’re not too busy?”

  Millie was such a lovely woman. She’d let her hair gray out naturally and had chosen a warm, woolly sweater for the party so she wouldn’t have to go home and change.

  “Of course,” I said, and shoved the last of the cake into my mouth. I gulped it down and headed over to help out. “What do you need?”

  “That string of lights there, please.”

  I lifted it and fed it up to her, and she proceeded to hang it carefully above the doors, pegging it in place. The string of lights only brought my thoughts back to the murder.

  “There, now, that’s better. Doesn’t it look festive?” Millie asked, clasping her hands together. “I’ll tell you, Ruby dear, this is one hundred times better than working at the paper.”

  “I thought you loved your job,” I said and held the ladder as Millie descended, her sneakers clacking on every rung.

  “I did before Greta came in and ruined everything.” Millie dusted off her palms. “The woman is a complete and total menace. She’s decided we’re going to start publishing gossip stories about everything related to the murder.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Did she mention anything about Clayton Babcock?”

  “No,” Millie said, “and I don’t think she will since she’s apparently the one who funded his campaign to run for mayor. But she has been spreading other vicious rumors around.”

  Even though we would leave soon, I did hope none of them were about Bee or me. I cared what the people of Carmel Springs thought of us. And when we did go, I wanted to leave them with warmth and joy and delicious Christmas cake miniatures. Not bad memories or gossip.

  “Well,” Millie said, lowering her voice and glancing around at the beautifully decorated hall, complete with red table cloths and a DJ booth. “She’s started a rumor that Ava was having an affair.”

  “What? But I thought that definitely wasn’t true.”

  “It wasn’t. At least,
I think it wasn’t. Greta seems so convinced.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Apparently, she saw Ava at the Clover Pot Hotel with someone. But she won’t say who it was,” Millie whispered, leaning in. “And rumor has it, they’ve been meeting in secret spots all over town. That’s what she says anyway, but I don’t know if that’s true.”

  “Secret spots? I didn’t realize there were any secret spots for people to meet.”

  “Oh, sure there are,” Millie said. “Jeremy and Tilly were meeting out in the shed off Fifth Street. And when the Lobster Shack was closed, Henrietta sure sneaked in there a lot. And then there’s the churchyard where—what? You’ve gone all wide-eyed.”

  “Did you say the churchyard?” I asked.

  “Yes. It’s right across the street. It’s usually locked up tight, but I know for a fact that Juicy Jameson used to hang out there with his girlfriend. Before the winter.” Millie shrugged. “There are all kinds of places people can meet, but I don’t know if I necessarily believe what Greta’s saying is true, dear. She’s hardly the most trustworthy of sources.” Millie patted me on the shoulder and hurried off to fetch more tinsel.

  Bee had disappeared, likely gone to the bathroom. I considered going after her, but this would only take a second. Assuming my hunch was correct.

  Brick dust.

  The churchyard.

  Someone trying to keep us out.

  My pulse pattered along at a furious pace. I sucked in breaths to calm myself. I had to g now. The party was due to start soon. The guests would be arriving. This was my chance!

  The sun had only just set as I crossed the road, walking briskly, the cold wind whipping against my cheeks. I adjusted my fluffy earmuffs and my scarf and looked both ways down the street. The coast was clear, relatively speaking.

  There were still folks moseying in and out of the Corner Café across from the town hall, but it didn’t seem like anyone was paying particular attention to me.