The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Rosie A. Point

  “Who else would it be?” Bee folded her arms. “Though, maybe the killer has a friend. Or was working with someone. Could you get a sense of who the attacker was? Anything stand out to you?”

  I bit my bottom lip and thought back.

  Now, that I was seated in the safety of Bee’s room, everything had gone blurry around the edges. The clarity that the adrenaline had brought was gone.

  “Green eyes,” I said. “I remember that. And cologne that smelled like citrus. And a voice I didn’t recognize.”

  “That might have been because you were in shock,” Bee said. “But it was definitely a man?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Bee sat down in one of the armchairs in her suite. “Hanson’s our only male suspect. Apart from Harry.”

  “But it can’t be Harry, can it?”

  “Why do you say that?” Bee asked.

  “Because of the timing of Moira’s murder,” I replied. “We haven’t talked about it yet, but Harry was on live television at the time of Moira’s murder. He definitely didn’t do it unless he hired someone do it, and I don’t see why he would’ve done that.”

  “Agreed. From what you told me, he already had too much to lose. Why go back to a life of crime when all he wants to do is put it in the past? And it wasn’t Moira who was threatening him, but Violet.” Bee paused, tapping her chin. “I’m going to order Chinese. You get a notepad and pen.”

  I liked that idea. Brainstorming who might’ve attacked me and going over the suspects would help me take control of the situation. And being in control meant being less afraid.

  Bee ordered the food, and I grabbed some paper and a pen from my bag.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s write the suspects down and sort through them.”

  “Motivations too.”

  “First up…”

  Harry Dean. I scribbled his name. On live TV during the murder of Moira. No financial motivation but being blackmailed by Violet. Had an affair with both Violet and Moira. Criminal past.

  “Apart from the fact that he was occupied during the murder,” Bee said, “he does look like a solid suspect. He’s involved with all the major players and he has high stakes. If people found out about his past, he’d be off the town council faster than you can say killer cupcakes.”

  “Right,” I replied.

  Violet Keller. Blackmailing Harry. Possible enemy of Moira since they were both having affairs with Harry. Definitely had access to the kitchen to poison the cupcake batter or frosting. Provided ingredients, as well.

  “Here’s what gets me about the poison,” I said. “It was slow-acting. What kind of poison is slow-acting and doesn’t kill effectively?”

  “If only we knew.”

  I continued my write-up for Violet. Possessed knitting needles. Left the knitting club shortly after Moira died. Her motivation might have been jealousy or the fact that she wanted power and control. But if she did, why leave the club after Moira’s death?

  “About as clear as chocolate pie,” Bee said. “Hanson’s next.”

  I’d been leaving him for last. I didn’t know how to feel about his involvement.

  Jamie Hanson. Lied about being fired from his job. Motivation to get rid of Moira—life insurance policy. Wasn’t as close with Moira as he seemed. Could easily have taken Moira’s knitting needles and stabbed her, and he definitely had access to her in hospital. But what about the poison?

  “Yeah, Hanson wasn’t at the mansion until Moira arrived,” Bee said. “Unless he snuck in when we weren’t looking.”

  “Which could have happened,” I said. “It’s not enough, is it? We just don’t know enough.”

  Bee took the pen from me and circled Hanson’s name. “What about the attacker? Was he tall, thin, broad, old?”

  “I don’t think he was old,” I said. “And Harry has a bit of a belly. The attacker definitely didn’t.”

  We were interrupted by our food arriving—doubtless, Mrs. Rickleston would be unhappy we’d opted for takeout rather than something from her delicious dinner menu, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I tucked into my chicken teriyaki with brown rice, occasionally stopping to grab a drink of water or frown at our page of notes.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  Bee paused with her chopsticks halfway to her mouth, pad thai dangling from them. “I think we need to know more about the first attempt on Moira’s life. But that seems almost impossible without getting access to surveillance footage from Violet’s place.”

  “Assuming those cameras worked. Her coverage is spotty at best, and she leaves her doors unlocked.”

  “Not the sign of a woman who’s worried about being murdered,” Bee said, dropping her chopsticks back into her box. “And that says something.”

  “If she killed Moira, she’d have no reason to be afraid.”

  “Exactly. And she wasn’t that unhappy about Moira’s passing either. No tears.”

  We went in circles with the suspect list, discussing who might have wanted what and why over and over again, until we were exhausted. Nothing sprang out at us. Whether we liked it or not, we needed more evidence.

  And we weren’t going to get it by sitting around eating takeout.

  15

  Another early morning on the truck was exactly what I needed to reinvigorate my mind. That and a cup of coffee and one of Bee’s cupcakes. I’d been up all night tossing and turning over Moira’s murder, and the attack.

  “Let’s see,” Bee said, as she organized trays of confectionery in our glass cases. “We’ve got donuts, the cream puff delights, the cupcakes, and the cookies. I think we’re set for the morning. Might have to do some extra baking halfway through the day, but other than that… are you OK?”

  “Just thinking about Moira,” I said.

  Not technically true. It was Hanson I was concerned about now. He seemed the most likely suspect with the information we had now.

  “Hmm.” Bee didn’t say anything—a sign that she was lost in thought too? That didn’t bode well for the investigation. Bee was the one who was better at deductive reasoning. I was the one who got in trouble more often.

  The first customers appeared and before I knew it, we were in the middle of the morning rush, serving coffees and cakes, with hardly any time to think or be tired. Every person who appeared in front of the window brought another snippet of information, whether it was about Moira’s death, the case, or just the random goings on around Muffin.

  At about ten in the morning, in the lull between breakfast and brunch, Lucy, probably our best friend in Muffin at this point, stepped up to the counter to be served.

  “Good morning! How are you today?”

  “Annoyed,” Lucy replied. “Guess who I ran into this morning? Total waste of my time. Like, I don’t know why I bother trying to help people.”

  Only one woman had ever gotten under Lucy’s skin. “Mrs. Rickleston? Did she come by the salon?”

  “She’d rather walk over hot coals.” Lucy snorted. “I ran into her at the grocery store in the fresh fruit aisle.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That she knows I sabotaged her nails. She keeps talking about some appointment she had out of town as if I know anything about it. Total freaking loony toon, if you ask me.” She twirled a finger next to her temple. “The whole trip would have been a total loss if I hadn’t heard what I heard.”

  “What did you hear?”

  The customers who’d been behind Lucy had realized that she wasn’t budging any time soon and had moved over to Bee’s side of the window to be served.

  “I’d barely cleared the gunk out of my ears, you know, after Rickleston filled them up with it, but I overheard Bobbi-Mae Jameson telling Jessican Jones that—”

  “Wait, her name is Jessican?”

  Lucy nodded. “Jessican.”

  “But—”

  “Her mom said she wanted her to be a can-do kind of person. Well, she sure can gossip, and what she said was that her
friend, Matilda? Well, she overheard Wilkes’ wife talking to the hairdresser, and Wilkes’ wife said that it wasn’t poison. It was drugs that got Moira.”

  “Drugs? What kind of drugs?”

  “Benzodi… benzo—something or the other.”

  “You lost me,” I said, scratching my neck.

  “The cupcake wasn’t poisoned, it was drugged. With this benzo… stuff.”

  “Benzodiazepines,” Bee said, out of the corner of her mouth.

  “That’s the stuff. The benzomarzipans. Apparently, that’s what made her ill. An overdose, and then the person who killed her when to the hospital and finished her off.”

  A piece of the puzzle slotted into place in my mind so suddenly, I was surprised no one else heard the ‘click.’

  Ronnie! Ronnie is a pharmacy technician. He could have given Violet the drugs that would help her overdose, or Violet could have used her position as his grandmother to convince him to give her some.

  “Ruby? Ruby, are you OK? Bee, she’s acting weird.”

  Bee patted me on the shoulder. “Epiphany?”

  “Bless you,” Lucy said.

  “I think so. We need to talk.” I could barely keep my mind in check.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out. Hey, Ruby, can I get, like, a cupcake or something? With a soda.”

  “Of course.” I set about getting her order together, hardly able to believe our luck in having gotten this extra piece of information. It might not seem like much, but it happened to be exactly what we needed to tie Violet to the murder.

  She’d had access to someone who could get her drugs, and she’d had full access to the ingredients and the kitchen.

  Then why haven’t the cops brought her in yet? What’s that about?

  The police surely knew everything we did and more, and if they hadn’t arrested Violet, they had to have a good reason for it. Was there something stopping them from doing so? There had to be—so what was it?

  An alibi that checked out?

  “Here you go,” I said, handing over the order.

  Lucy paid and thanked me. “Seriously, I’m sorry for freaking you out.”

  “You didn’t freak me out, Luce. I’m just thinking about some stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “About Moira,” I said, lowering my voice. “And what happened to her. And how it could possibly have happened when she was in a hospital with cameras and everything.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. I never thought of it that way before.” She wrinkled her nose. “They probably would have arrested someone by now if they saw who did it though.”

  “Right.”

  “I gotta go,” Lucy said. “Stay safe, gals.” She waved with her cupcake box.

  Another customer appeared in front of my section of the window, and I got to work. The day wore on, and at the end of it, Bee and I closed so we could clean the truck without interruption.

  “What do you think?” I asked, right away.

  “I think we need to go back to Violet’s place and do some snooping,” Bee replied. “There’s got to be something we missed.”

  “Maybe we could check her safe again. She might have those drugs in there or… somewhere in her bedroom.”

  “Let’s do it,” Bee agreed.

  16

  We parked the food truck down the road from Violet’s driveway and walked the rest of the way. Once again, the gates were open, and Bee and I exchanged a glance and a shrug before entering the grounds.

  “She really needs to work on her security,” Bee said.

  “Maybe it’s the small-town thing?”

  “Hmm. You can tell they’ve never been robbed before.” Bee gestured to the bushes to one side, and we entered the garden, walking under the trees and keeping away from the lights that trailed along the path and illuminated the lush green grass of the lawn.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Of course, it’s not a bad thing. I just feel they should look after themselves better.” Bee and I stopped across from kitchen door, where there were no cameras. The door itself was closed, but I doubted it was locked.

  “What now?” I asked. “We just sneak in there and look around?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “But what if she’s home?”

  “We could wait until she’s not,” Bee said. “But that might take all night, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not prepared to camp out in the bushes all night. Are you getting cold feet? We can come back tomorrow.”

  “Not cold feet, no,” I said. “Just something doesn’t add up. Violet… she was threatening Harry, but I don’t know if I picture her as the murdering type.”

  Bee’s brow wrinkled. “Picture her as the murdering type? There’s not much to picture here. She invited us to cater her best friend’s surprise birthday party, insisted that we use her ingredients, had access to the kitchen at all times, has knitting needles, clearly didn’t like Moira judging by what you overheard between her and Harry, and now we know she had full access to Ronnie, the apple of her eye, who probably gave her drugs.”

  “Well, when you put it like that.”

  “There’s no other way to put it. The woman is guilty as—”

  The kitchen door opened, and Violet herself clattered out onto the back step in high heels. She waved.

  I grabbed hold of Bee’s arm, pressing a finger to my lips. Had she heard us talking? But how? We weren’t near enough to the house.

  “Dears! You can come out of the bushes now,” Violet said. “I see you.”

  “Uh oh.” Bee detached my white-knuckle grip from her forearm and made to step out onto the lawn.

  I caught her again. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to talk to Violet.”

  “But—”

  “She’s already spotted us. Either we talk to her or she calls the cops.” Bee stepped out of the bushes and made her way toward Violet.

  I hesitated, then followed her, tension banding in my chest. What if Violet decided to do worse than call the cops? She might be the real murderer and decide that getting rid of us would be easier.

  “Hello, dears,” Violet said, once we’d reached the back steps. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

  “We were just… uh,” I started, but there was no easy way to finish that sentence.

  “Hoping to figure out what happened to Moira?” Violet asked. “The police were here earlier to talk to me about my apparent involvement. They’ve been hassling me for days and ignoring my complaints about my own safety.”

  So, they had been to see her and hadn’t arrested her. That had to mean she was innocent.

  “I have an alibi for the day of Moira’s murder,” Violet said. “And while I appreciate you wanting to help, particularly since it’s my friend who was murdered, I can’t abide people sneaking around my property.”

  I winced.

  “And I’ve had a lot of that lately. I wonder…” Violet tapped her finger on her cheek. “Yes, I think that’s an idea.”

  “What’s an idea?” Bee asked.

  “You’d better come inside. We can discuss it in private.” She beckoned to us and retreated into the kitchen.

  “Uh—”

  “If you don’t,” Violet called, “I’ll be forced to call the police and tell them you were trespassing on my property. I’m sure they’ll be interested since they’re still looking for Moira’s murderer, and you two were the ones who baked the cupcake that nearly killed her.”

  That settled it.

  We marched into the kitchen, me with my arms folded, and Bee with her hands balled into fists at her sides. She wasn’t going to take threats like this lying down.

  Besides, Violet had already proven that she was more than happy to threaten and blackmail people to get her way. The kitchen, sparkling and clean with white tiles and marble countertops, was empty, though.

  “Here. In the living room,” she called.

  Violet sat on her blue s
ofa, her hands in her lap and her head tilted to one side. She bore a smile that said she had all the power and there was nothing we could do about it. “Take a seat, ladies.”

  “I prefer to stand,” Bee replied.

  I lowered myself into one of the armchairs. Better that at least one of us didn’t irritate her too much. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had some information on us tucked away in her safe upstairs.

  “Suit yourself,” Violet said. “Now, I don’t want you to be alarmed, but I need your help. There’s someone who’s been breaking into my house and stealing my things.”

  Stealing? I hadn’t taken anything from the safe upstairs.

  “Perhaps if you had a better security system that wouldn’t be a problem,” Bee said.

  “I’m working on it, trust me. I’ve got a camera monitoring the front gate, now. That’s how I knew you were here, and that you’d snuck around the side of the house like two little mice hiding from the cat.” Violet raised an overplucked eyebrow.

  “What do you want?” Bee asked, peevishly. “I’m tired of playing games.”

  “I think it would be more appropriate for you to tell me what you want,” Violet countered. “After all, you were the ones who decided to trespass on my property.”

  “I thought you knew. We want to find out who killed Moira.”

  “Yes, but why come here? And why sneak rather than ask me if I was involved outright?” Violet asked.

  “It’s not in our experience that murderers generally tell the truth about their involvement in murders.”

  “I see,” Violet said. “Well, you can rest assured that I am not the murderer. I wouldn’t have hurt my dear friend Moira.”

  “Not physically, you mean.” I drew my shoulders back. “You were more than happy to have Harry break off his affair with her on your account.”

  Violet grew pale. Her lips thinned and trembled. “That’s none of your business.”

  “But it provides the perfect motive for murder,” Bee said. “I wonder if the police know about your little secret. We might have to tell them if they don’t.”

  “It won’t make a difference either way,” Violet snapped. “I have proof that I didn’t murder Moira.”