The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Rosie A. Point

  Bee growled under her breath.

  I inhaled, trying to be the calm one in this situation. If we let Jones get to us too much, we’d end up getting in trouble for arguing with him. Unfortunately, he had the power in this scenario. There wasn’t much we could do except what he wanted.

  “Well?” Jones prompted. He folded his arms, and the light from the lampposts outside the guesthouse caught the half-circles of sweat under his arms.

  It wasn’t late yet, but exhaustion only heightened my irritability. “We have reason to believe that it might’ve been the murderer who broke in.”

  “This ought to be good,” Jones muttered.

  “You see,” I said, cutting over the insult Bee had been about to lodge at the detective, “we witnessed someone in a mask and hood peering through the windows of the guesthouse. They dropped Honey’s engagement ring, remember?”

  “That’s classified information.”

  “If the murderer believed we had the engagement ring, maybe they broke in to find it,” I said.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” Detective Martin said, tipping his hat toward me, “but on the call, you mentioned that your truck’s keys had been stolen.”

  “Correct.” At least he was polite. And handsome. Oh, I had to stop with that. It was pointless.

  “Why would the murderer have wanted the truck’s keys, ma’am? If they were after the engagement ring.”

  I stalled, searching for the answer. But there wasn’t one that made sense. He was right. Why on earth would the killer have taken the truck keys?

  “Maybe, they thought we’d hidden the ring in the truck. They might not have known we handed it over to the police,” Bee said, raising a finger.

  “Or maybe,” Jones said, “this is a waste of my time.”

  “It’s not. Listen, detective, I know we haven’t gotten off to the best start, but you have to take this seriously. The murderer—”

  “Is my business and not yours, little lady,” he said. “Now, we’re leaving. Another unit, one that’s not actively investigating a murder, will come over to take your statements and help you out.” He charged off again. The cruiser door slammed.

  “Sorry,” Detective Martin said, “I—uh. I’d better go.” And he hurried off as well.

  “That’s just great.” Bee tried the front door of the truck. “What are we supposed to do now?”

  “Wait for the other cops, I guess. And call a locksmith to come out tomorrow and help us get the truck open.”

  “You don’t have a spare set of keys?” Bee asked.

  I blushed. “No, they were both on the key ring that was taken. Oops.”

  “Oops, indeed.”

  We waited on the steps of the Oceanside for the police to come over, and I contemplated what had happened, turning it this way and that, trying to make sense of it in my mind. If it hadn’t been the killer, but someone who wanted to steal the truck then why hadn’t they taken the keys, started the truck and made off with it? They’d had their chance while we’d been at dinner.

  If only I could figure out why they’d snatched the keys.

  And who they were.

  18

  Sunlight slanting across my pillow woke me. I sat up, scrubbed the sleep from my eyes, and yawned. I lifted my filigree watch from the bedside table and checked the time. “What!” I bolted out of bed, upsetting Trouble, who had been napping near my feet. “What on earth? It’s nine? Why didn’t anyone wake me?”

  I grabbed my robe from the back of the bathroom door and slipped it on. I rushed into the bathroom and to the door opposite that connected to Bee’s room. I pounded on it.

  “Easy, easy,” Bee called out. “Some of us are trying to sleep in here.”

  “Bee, wake up! It’s nine. The truck. We have to—”

  The door cracked open, and Bee’s bleary-eyed glare peered through at me. “Ruby, the truck’s locked. Remember? And we can’t get in? The locksmith’s coming at ten. We’ve still got an hour to get ready.”

  The reality settled around me, and I let out a breath. “Oh. Right. I completely forgot.”

  “That’s apparent,” Bee said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to grab myself a cup of coffee. Take your time in the bathroom.” She snapped the door shut and shuffled off, humming under her breath.

  I rubbed my eyes and caught my haggard reflection in the mirror. Good heavens, I needed a shower, a fresh set of clothes, and about twenty cups of coffee.

  A shower and two cups of coffee later, I was more ready to tackle the day. I’d brushed my hair, splashed on some lip gloss and mascara, and missed one of Sam’s delicious breakfasts, but we could always go grab something to eat after the locksmith had come.

  It was just such a pity that we’d lost a day of work on the food truck when we’d been growing popular again.

  At ten, I knocked on Bee’s door, and we made our way down to the truck. I tried the door, but it was still locked up tight. Whoever had taken the keys had kept them and left the truck behind.

  “How strange,” I said. “Why wouldn’t they steal it?”

  “I find it odd, as well. Unless they wanted something inside it?”

  “What if they stole our cupcake ingredients?”

  “Or my recipe book!” Bee clenched her fists. “Hell hath no fury like a Bee who’s had her recipes stolen.”

  “Catchy.”

  Bee smiled, but it soon faded to worry. “It doesn’t look like it’s been vandalized or anything. I don’t understand. Why would they have done this? There’s no reason to break into someone’s room and steal something as useless as a set of keys without taking what they open.”

  “Exactly. Oh, here he is.”

  The locksmith arrived in a truck with his name along the side in snazzy print: Guy’s Locks and Car Keys. He leaped out of the truck, spry despite his weight. His shirt lifted over his belly, and his jeans were barely held up by his belt. He smelled strongly of metal shavings.

  “What we got here?” he asked, shaking my hand and then Bee’s. “Missing keys?”

  “Correct,” I said. “We didn’t want to break the window.”

  Guy sucked his teeth. “Good choice, ma’am. Good choice. Wouldn’t want to cost yourself extra money. Give me a half-hour, and I’ll have it all set for ya. New set of keys and everything.”

  We retreated to the Oceanside’s front porch to watch, and Sam came out bearing two cups of coffee and a plate of cookies.

  “I thought you might want these while you wait.” Sam seemed to droop as she handed them over. “I can’t believe this has happened to you. And at my guesthouse again. What am I going to do about this? I always figured our town was safe. Obviously, there are always those petty theft cases, but this is getting out of hand.”

  “Sam, this isn’t your fault,” I said, taking a bite of a crumbly yet gooey chocolate chip cookie. “You’ve been a fantastic host.”

  “Exactly,” Bee put in. “It feels more like we were the ones who brought all this negativity down on you rather than the other way around.”

  “Now you’re starting to sound like Detective Jones.”

  Bee shot me a look over the rim of her coffee cup. “I’ve never been so severely insulted in my entire life, I’ll have you know.”

  “Apologies. I was being overly dramatic.”

  “I’ll accept it.”

  Sam sat down heavily on one of her porch chairs. “If word gets out that another break-in has happened here, I don’t know what I’m going to do. No one will want to visit.”

  “Sam, please, don’t worry about this. We’ll find a way to make it better.” But I had no idea how we’d do that.

  I contemplated while Guy finished up. Soon, he came back to us with a fresh set of keys. “All done,” he said, as he placed the keys in my palm. “Y’all give me a call if you need anything else.”

  “We will, thank you.” I paid him, and once he was gone, Bee and I approached the truck. “Now, we get to see if anything’s missing.”

/>   “My recipe book,” Bee hissed.

  I unlocked the truck with our new keys, and we piled inside. Bee made a beeline for her secret recipe book hiding spot in the corner cupboard and emerged with it in her hands. She clutched it to her chest, breathing heavily. “Thank goodness. My culinary secrets are safe.”

  “You know, the police should really be here. They should be taking fingerprints.”

  “Don’t even get me started.”

  I went through the ingredients and checked the boxes, made my way from the back of the truck to the front, searching high and low in case the key thief had taken something or left evidence behind. I sat down in the driver’s seat and something poked me where the sun didn’t shine.

  “Ow!”

  “What is it? Are you all right?” Bee rushed through to the cab.

  “I’m sitting on some—” I removed the object.

  It was a glittery pink smartphone, the screen sleek black.

  “I didn’t know you upgraded,” Bee said.

  “I didn’t,” I replied. “This isn’t mine.”

  “I’m not the glittery pink type.”

  “Then whose is it?” I unlocked the screen. There was no passcode. An image of Honey Wilson was the background. She wore her flesh-colored bikini and a pair of high heels. “It’s Honey’s phone,” I said.

  “Are you sure?”

  I showed her the screen.

  “What’s it doing here?” I asked and opened up her messages. Just to be sure this was really her phone and not someone else’s. I doubted William would have had a glittery phone, even with Honey’s picture as a background.

  “What’s that?” Bee asked. “That message there?” My partner in baking leaned against my seat and tapped on the screen.

  A message opened.

  I told you you’d regret this. You should have just done what I wanted from the start. You’re going to die today.

  It was dated on the day of her murder. From a number that wasn’t in her phone contacts. Bee and I stared at each other, wide-eyed. “Who? How? Why?”

  “Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” Bee said. “Quick, let’s copy the number down. We have to report this to the police.”

  I blinked. “But…”

  “The person who stole the truck keys must have planted the phone in here. They wanted to frame you as the murderer. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops pull up before we can even call them. We have to act quickly,” Bee said, her own phone out of her pocket. She copied down the strange number then took the glittery phone from my hand and wiped it down. “We don’t want them to have anything on you.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Bee said, as she put the phone in the glove box. “But we’re going to find out.”

  19

  “That man!” Bee stamped her foot so hard she almost tripped. “I can’t believe we have to endure dealing with him at all.” She glared after the police cruiser.

  It turned the corner at the end of the street. The pressure in my chest stayed the same. Detective Jones and his partner had rolled up and snatched the phone from us before we’d even called them. No amount of explaining what had happened seemed to make a difference.

  From what Jones had said, he clearly believed that I’d had Honey’s phone because I’d killed her and had wanted to hide the evidence from them. Patently untrue, of course.

  “It’s OK, Bee. We’re going to figure this out on our own. You have the number, right?”

  “Right,” Bee said and removed her phone from her pocket.

  We retreated to the porch—so we wouldn’t look strange, standing in the middle of the road fiddling with a phone—and huddled together.

  “Here we go. Let’s see who answers,” Bee said and hit dial. She turned up the volume and put it on speaker. The dial tone beeped. “Shoot. It’s busy.”

  “Or off.”

  “Or maybe it was a burner phone. The killer used it and threw it away to ensure the police couldn’t latch on to their signal.”

  “Personally, I wouldn’t have been worried. I doubt Jones knows anything about triangulating a signal,” I said.

  Bee tried the number again but to no avail. There was simply no answer, and we were out of luck. Bee sighed and tucked her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. “I’m stumped,” she said. “We know the wedding planner might have been up to something, but we have no real proof other than the fact she might not have liked Honey.”

  “And there was the whole Richard-in-the-will deal.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. We definitely weren’t going to be driving out to the beach today to serve our treats, and that meant we’d have some time to work on the case. “I have an idea.”

  “Shoot.” Bee leaned against the railing. “I’m willing to try anything at this point.”

  “Well, there’s one obvious avenue we haven’t investigated yet. We could talk to William.”

  Bee pulled a face. “Only one problem with that. If we upset him, he’s likely to go tell the detective about it.”

  “It’s probably a chance we have to take, regardless.”

  “I agree. Let’s do it.” Bee’s hazel eyes were aglow with excitement.

  We bundled into the guesthouse and up the stairs to the second floor where William and Honey had been staying together. Over the past few days, we’d only seen William briefly, always in passing, and he’d looked tired and sad.

  According to just about every crime show I’d watched, the spouse was usually the prime suspect in a murder case, but talking to William right after Honey’s death had seemed like a crass thing to do.

  I knocked on his door, my mouth drying up.

  A beat passed. Bee shifted next to me.

  The latch clacked and William opened the door. “Hello,” he said. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Hi, William,” I said. “You don’t know us very well, but we just wanted to offer our condolences for your loss.” And shamelessly use that as an excuse to squeeze you for more information. What if he had done it? What if William had killed Honey in a rage? They had fought a lot, after all, and the engagement ring had been removed from her hand. Maybe he’d wanted to keep it afterward.

  William nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “As I understand it, Honey was planning on having you cater the wedding.”

  “That’s correct,” I said.

  “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Oh shoot,” Bee said, “I almost forgot. I’ll be right back.” She rushed back down the stairs, leaving me alone with a potential murderer. Not that it was a problem or anything. Wait, no, that’s a huge problem.

  “If that’s all?”

  “Oh, I just, uh…”

  Bee’s footsteps hurried back and she reappeared, carrying a Bite-sized Bakery pink and green striped box. “Here,” she said, pushing it into William’s hands. “They’re cupcakes for you to enjoy. Where I come from, it’s customary to bring food to a wake. I know this isn’t one, but—”

  William clasped the box in his large hands, his usually handsome face crumbling slightly. His chin quivered. He took a deep breath. “Thank you. That’s very kind. Please, come in. Have some coffee and one of these. I’m leaving soon. It would be nice to have some company while I pack.”

  Bee and I exchanged a glance and followed him into the room.

  His was much larger than ours, with a four-poster bed decked out in white and teal cushions. He had an amazing view of the ocean, a balcony, and a pair of sofas. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall, and I spied a bathroom, tiled, with a four-footed Jacuzzi inside it. Good heavens, William had to be paying Sam an arm and a leg for this room.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing to the sofa.

  Bee and I sat down. William set the cupcakes on the table in their box then prepared the coffee.

  “I can do that,” I said.

  “No, it’s fine,” he replied. “I prefer to keep my hands busy. It’s distracting.” He fixed us cof
fee then came to take a seat. His bags were open on the bed, clothing folded neatly within, a pink makeup bag on top of the pile—that had likely belonged to Honey. It was sad that William had kept that. Perhaps he missed her. That or he liked wearing makeup.

  The ridiculous thought almost brought a smile to my lips, but I contained it. William wore a suit and a tie, his dark hair parted to one side—not exactly the makeup-wearing type.

  “I’m sorry you haven’t had much company,” I said. “If we’d known, we would have made more of an effort.”

  “No, it’s all right. In a way, I needed some time alone. I had to process what happened.” William shook his head. “I still miss her every day. I’m so sure I’ll wake up one of these mornings and she’ll be lying in bed next to me.”

  “Sorry.” Bee was brisk about it. She reached for a cupcake and tucked into it, probably to keep herself from feeling too awkward about the whole thing.

  “We spoke to Jessie,” I said. “She was upset too. And Richard…”

  “Richard handles things in his own way. We might look alike, but we’re two completely different people.” A slight tightening occurred around William’s lips. He glanced off to one side. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. I’ll be glad to leave this town.”

  “So, the police have told you you’re allowed to go then?” Bee asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I have a rock-solid alibi. I hate saying that. I have an alibi for the morning of my fiancée’s death.” A bit of coffee spilled from his cup. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever had to say.”

  “Sorry,” Bee and I said, in unison. It was easy to get into the habit, but I was sure that no amount of apologizing would make a difference to William.

  “But Jessie’s not leaving?” I asked.

  “No, she’s not.” Again, a tightening around William’s lips. “Not that she should. I’m not convinced that… No, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  “Do you think she had something to do with this?” Bee asked. “If the police want her to stay, that might mean something.”

  William’s tight lips drew even more so.

  “She was upset about it, though,” I said, trying to subconsciously nudge William toward the outburst that was so clearly on the way. “She was upset about poor Honey. Said that Honey had always been her friend and that it was such a shame she was gone.”