The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Rosie A. Point

  The detective puffed out his chest, but Hanson waved a hand at him. “Williams, can you, uh, go talk to Mrs. Reed? Find out what she wanted?”

  Williams gave me the evil-eye before shrugging and sauntering off.

  “Sorry about him,” Hanson said. “He’s… set in his ways. Piggish. Difficult to work with too, if it’s any consolation.”

  I grunted—not my most attractive moment—and got myself a can of coke from the fridge. I popped the tab and drank some, allowing the fizz to wash over my tongue and distract me from the irritation.

  “So, what did you mean about the motivation being obvious?” Bee asked.

  Hanson set down his cupcake on the countertop, suddenly serious. “I’m not technically allowed to share anything with anyone, but since you two were the ones who found the body, you might be able to help me clear up a few things.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “See, now, we figured that the murder was motivated by… anger or rage at first, but that didn’t hold with what we found. Mr. Brink’s wallet was taken, as well as his watch—he had one of those fancy Rolex watches, y’know?” Hanson’s accent sounded Bostonian, and I kind of liked that. “It’s looking like it was probably a robbery gone wrong.”

  “A robbery. Here?” I asked. “At the campground? An armed robbery?”

  “That’s right,” Hanson said.

  “But why? I mean. Why has no one else been robbed?” Though, Charlene had mentioned petty theft the other day. But there was a big difference between stealing a cellphone and shooting someone for their wallet.

  “I can’t answer that question.” The detective ran fingers through his wavy blond hair. “But I wanted to know from you ladies whether you saw anything that night. Anything or anyone who might’ve suited that M.O.”

  Bee and I fell silent, both wracking our brains. “No,” I said, at last. “I didn’t notice anyone hanging around who shouldn’t have been there.”

  “Me neither. Everyone was gathered at the bonfire pit.”

  Detective Hanson gave a nod. “That’s what I thought, unfortunately. Thanks for your help anyway. I was wondering if…”

  I lost track of the rest of his sentence. Lulu, the budding author, had just come around the corner, another of her books tucked under her arm. She spotted the detective in front of the food truck and turned the color of milk past its expiration date.

  “—think that might be something you’re interested in?” Hanson asked.

  I blinked, turning back to him again. “Sorry, what?”

  Hanson cleared his throat. “Uh… well, never mind. Maybe another time.” He took a card out of the top pocket of his uniform and handed it over. His fingertips brushed mine—they were warm and a little rough. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

  “We will.” I tucked the card away, searching the crowd for Lulu. She’d already disappeared.

  The detective lingered, cleared his throat a second time, then walked off.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Bee whispered.

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “That incredibly delectable detective was just about to ask you out,” she said, throwing her hands up. “And you blanked him.”

  “Blanked him?”

  “You shut him down before he could even ask you. What on earth has gotten into you, Ruby? When the deliciously ripe golden apple falls into your lap, you take a bite!”

  “Bee, it’s hardly appropriate that you refer to him as a deliciously ripe golden apple,” I said. “And you must be mistaken.” I couldn’t see why a man who looked like that would be interested in a woman who looked like me. Small, nearing 40 and always wearing an apron. It wasn’t like I dressed in glamorous clothes or… “Anyway,” I continued, “I was distracted because I saw Lulu.”

  “Oh?” Bee lost the will to scold me instantly. “Where?”

  “She’s gone now,” I said. “But you should have seen the look on her face when she saw Hanson.”

  “Blushing? Swooning? A hand to her forehead?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No,” I replied. “She went white. I wonder why that is.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Bee winked at me, and I held back a groan.

  Once again, we were getting involved, whether I liked it or not. Even the detective in charge wanted our opinion. But as we closed the food truck and packaged a few cupcakes to take with us, I found that I wasn’t too upset about the prospect of finding out more about what had happened to Ronald.

  8

  Lulu and her grandmother, Bubby, stayed in a faded blue camper that was between ours and the gates of the campgrounds. It was easy to find. A few questions to other holidaymakers had pointed us in the right direction.

  The wheels of the blue camper were surrounded by thick growths of green grass, and a lawn chair outside had fallen over onto its side, the plastic bleached from forest green to a paler shade. The camper itself, however faded it was, was huge and luxurious, with curtains drawn in the windows.

  “I wonder how long they’ve been here.”

  “I wonder whether Lulu was so desperate for money she killed Ronald,” Bee whispered.

  That was technically what we’d come to find out.

  I walked up the side-steps of the camper and knocked on the door. A few minutes of silence passed, the call of crickets in the grass disturbing it.

  The door opened and there was Lulu, pale all over again, wearing her glasses on the tip of her nose, but without her signature book. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Hello,” I said. “Sorry, are we disturbing you?”

  Lulu grasped the edges of the door and pulled herself out, glancing left and right along the trail. She retreated again. “No. I guess not.”

  “I saw you at the truck earlier and I didn’t get a chance to give you a cupcake,” I said, thrusting the box toward her. “I thought you might like these. They’re chocolate flavor.”

  Lulu took the box and popped the lid. She checked the contents then shut it again. “Thanks,” she said, but her tone didn’t soften. “Is that all?”

  “We just wanted to talk,” I said. “Are you OK?”

  “Yep. All good.” She made to shut the door.

  “You’re not going to say thank you?” Bee came forward. “Generally, when someone gives you a gift or shows you hospitality, it’s expected that you thank them. Or are things different where you come from?”

  “No,” she said, and finally her shoulders sagged. “Sorry. I just… Do you want to come inside?”

  We entered the camper and Lulu brought us to the melamine table and cushy booth chairs in the dining area. She opened the curtains an inch to allow some light into the gloom. The place smelled of roses and a hint of mothballs, and there was a dryness to the air. Like old books and dust and…

  “Thanks for the cupcakes,” Lulu said, and sat down.

  Bee slipped onto the cushy bench and I followed her. “You’re welcome. Things have been going a bit crazy around here. Everyone’s stressed. We figured that sugar and treats was the best remedy for that.”

  “I don’t normally eat that much sugar,” Lulu said, patting her belly. “But this is a good excuse to take a break from my diet.” Lulu wasn’t overweight, but she wasn’t skinny either—she didn’t look like the toned, athletic type.

  “Eating a cupcake a day is technically a diet.” I offered her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “You should have come over this morning.”

  “Yeah,” Lulu said. “I had somewhere to be.”

  “Where?” Bee asked. “Book club meeting? Authors Anonymous?”

  I bumped my knee into my friend’s under the table. She had sarcasm on tap—it was difficult getting her to tighten the faucet.

  “No,” Lulu said, not catching the sarcasm by some miracle. “No, just had other places to be. A lot of people like me to read my book to them, you know.” She perked up. “Would you like me to read to you?”

  “Maybe a littl
e later,” I said.

  Lulu popped open the cupcake box and removed one. She swept her finger through the frosting and licked it up. “Oh, wow, that’s good. Exactly what I needed.”

  “You’re stressed,” Bee said. “Why?”

  “The murder. Ronald and I weren’t best friends, but, you know, it’s weird not having him around. And it means that there’s a murderer skulking around out there. Unless they already left. Oh man, I hope they already left.” She shuddered and attacked the frosting with her finger again. “Do you think they’ve gone?”

  “No idea,” I said.

  “Well, I hope they’re gone, whoever they are.” Lulu bite off a huge piece of cupcake, nearly dropped it, then stuffed it into her mouth with greedy fingertips. And nails that had a lot of black dirt underneath them. Had she been gardening? The grass out front didn’t look like it had been mowed or touched in ages.

  “I doubt it.” Bee ignored Lulu’s shocked stare. “But the sooner the cops find who did it, the better. Have they come to talk to you yet?”

  Again, Lulu paled. She put down her half-eaten cupcake on the tabletop, spilling crumbs every which way. “No. Why would they? They have nothing to talk to me about.”

  “You were arguing with Ronald on the day of his murder.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything!” Lulu protested. “That was just an argument. We did that all the time. It was Ronald. He liked to kid around and tell me that I wasn’t a good writer. I think he liked seeing me get all red and excited. He had a crush on me. Most men who meet me wind up falling madly in love with me, you know. That’s just the kind of woman I am.”

  “Good heavens,” I said.

  “Yeah, shocking, isn’t it?” Lulu asked. “He was an older man and you would’ve thought with all the attention he was getting, he wouldn’t want anyone else.”

  “Attention? What do you mean, attention?”

  “I shouldn’t say.” Lulu picked a few crumbs off the table and nibbled on them. “It’s not right to gossip.”

  But it was right to sell books to people who didn’t want them and eat cupcakes with dirty fingers. Eugh.

  “You can tell us,” I said. “We won’t spread it around.”

  “I don’t think it would matter if you did. Most of the people staying here already know about what happened.” Lulu put her elbow on the table and squashed the cupcake without noticing. Her gaze was fixed on me. “See, everyone knows that the owner of the campgrounds is a bit of a… you know, weirdo. And he’s angry. And scary. No one gets how Charlene puts up with him since she’s so sweet and kind and everything. For whatever reason, Charlene doesn’t want to divorce Van, probably because he’s so rich, so she had an affair instead. With Ronald.”

  “They were having an affair?”

  “Yeah, exactly.” Lulu shifted her elbow and smeared chocolate everywhere. “Van probably found out about it and…” She mimed a gun being fired. “Pow. Got rid of him. He’s a very jealous man. He keeps Charlene locked up in the camper for the most part and I’ve heard them fighting every other night since we arrived, and that was months ago. So, you see, the cops don’t need to talk to me, they need to talk to Van or Charlene. It was one of them who did it. Definitely.”

  “Just because someone’s jealous doesn’t mean they’ll kill—"

  “Oh, come on,” Lulu said, cutting me off before I could gain speed. “That’s, like, a crime of passion. I would know. See, that was the main motivation in my book.” She pointed to the stack of books on the kitchen counter. They were all hers, the spines neatly aligned, and the title and author name printed in bold font. “You should take one each. Read them. You can learn about what it’s like to solve a real crime.”

  Bee snorted.

  “Something wrong with your nose?” Lulu asked.

  “Hay fever,” I said, before Bee could unleash on her. “Well, thanks for telling us all of that, Lulu.” I couldn’t thank her for the tea or coffee since she hadn’t bothered offering us any. “We’d better get back to the truck. More cakes to bake.”

  “Right, but before you go… just be careful, OK? Van has been telling everyone not to go near your truck. He thinks one of you did it, and if you get on his bad side, he’ll probably kick you out of the campgrounds,” Lulu said

  Bee and I thanked her for the warning then left the camper. A look back showed Lulu’s face peering out at us from between the kitchen curtains.

  “What a strange girl,” I said.

  “But is she a killer?” Bee asked.

  “What do you think about the Van, Charlene, Ronald love triangle theory?” I asked. “Crime of passion?”

  “If she put it in her book, I wouldn’t put much stock in it,” Bee said. “Now, I’m just being bitter. If Charlene really was having an affair with Ronald… we should probably speak to Charlene. Or go check out their trailer. If Van is as controlling as Lulu’s making him out to be, that’s a definite warning sign.”

  “I’m in,” I said. “It beats worrying that the murderer is going to come knocking on our door.”

  “Our tent, you mean?”

  I laughed. It wasn’t that I wanted to figure out what was going on, per se, but it was just the thought of that detective, not the handsome one, but the other piggish man solving it before we did that ground at me.

  We’ll see who has a pretty little head when I’m through with this mystery.

  9

  This probably wasn’t the wisest idea we’d ever had, and that was coming from women who had broken into people’s houses and investigated murders they had no right to. Snooping around Van’s camper in the early evening, shrouded by the purple haze of dusk, was dangerous for two reasons.

  First, he might be the killer.

  And second, if he wasn’t the killer, he might end our vacation before we’d had a chance to start it properly. Or solve the case.

  Bee and I stood between the trees further back from the RV, hiding behind a tree a piece. It was surprisingly cold, like the foliage had sucked all the heat of the day from the surrounds.

  “See anything?” I asked.

  Bee craned her neck. “Nothing much. The lights are on inside but there’s no movement.”

  “They must be at the offices.”

  “And they left their internal lights on? That doesn’t make sense. At least one of them has to be in there.”

  “Hopefully, it’s Charlene.”

  “Even if it is Charlene, it wouldn’t matter. We can’t sneak around looking for clues while she’s in there. She might see us,” Bee said, ducking back into the darkness.

  If Charlene saw us, she’d have questions, and I didn’t trust that she would take kindly to us being here. Though, we could technically tell her we’d come to check on Buddy again.

  “Do you think it’s true?” I whispered.

  “What? The rumors of an affair?” Bee peeked out again. “I’m not sure, but—oh, yes, she’s in there. Look!”

  Charlene stood in the RV, facing our direction, washing dishes in the sink. Tears rolled down her face, and her shoulders shook. Every now and again, she’d raise an arm and wipe her cheeks, dripping soapy water from the tips of her fingers.

  “Oh dear,” Bee said.

  “Looks like she’s upset.”

  “You don’t say.”

  I rolled my eyes at Bee. “It must be about Ronald, right? She’s upset because she can’t see him anymore.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “I’d wager that Van isn’t around if she’s crying like that,” Bee said. “He’s the type of man who would get annoyed when a woman cries, and he probably wouldn’t approve of Charlene crying over the man who might’ve been her secret lover.”

  “If only we could get her to—”

  The lights went off in the RV and its front door slammed. I pressed a finger to my lips, more to silence myself than to warn Bee. A figure appeared near the side of the RV and headed for the road. It looked as if Charlene was going to the restaur
ant? Perhaps going to meet Van? The office and events hall across from the RV were dark too.

  “Now’s our chance,” Bee breathed.

  The only light came from the moon, the clouds scudding across the sky blocking it out and revealing it again. Charlene and Van’s cherry red RV sat silent, and we kept to the back of it where the only witnesses to our dastardly sneaking would be the trees themselves.

  Bee and I systematically tried fiddling with the windows. We hopped up and down, trying to get a good look inside when they failed to open.

  “Now what?” I asked, huffing out breaths. Good heavens, I needed to go on a diet or start exercising. A few jumps and I was ready to lay down and pass out in the grass.

  “Now… Get on my shoulders,” Bee said.

  “What? Have you lost your marbles? I’m not getting on your shoulders! I’ll crush you.”

  “You’re either vastly underestimating my strength or overestimating how many cupcakes you ate today,” Bee said. “Stop complaining and get on my shoulders.” She crouched so I could sit on her like she was the dad and I was the carefree kid at the carnival. All that was missing was the cotton candy and the terrifying clowns.

  “Bee. I am not going to mount you like you’re a racehorse.”

  “Then let me climb on your shoulders.”

  “I would,” I said, “but—”

  A soft whine interrupted me.

  “Sheesh, you don’t need to cry about it,” I said. “It’s not like we’ll be able to make it in and out of the RV before they get back from wherever they are.”

  “That wasn’t me, Ruby.”

  “Oh.”

  Another whine came, and it was easier to pinpoint this time.

  “Under the RV,” Bee said, fishing her phone out of her pocket. She switched on the flashlight and bent, directing the beam into the darkness.

  Buddy the Labrador lay underneath the vehicle, his snout on his paws, and his expressive eyebrows moving as he looked first at Bee and then at me. He thumped his tail twice.