by Fiona Grace
BEACHFRONT BAKERY:
A MURDEROUS MACARON
(A Beachfront Bakery Cozy Mystery —Book Two)
FIONA GRACE
Fiona Grace
Debut author Fiona Grace is author of the LACEY DOYLE COZY MYSTERY series, comprising nine books (and counting); of the TUSCAN VINEYARD COZY MYSTERY series, comprising six books (and counting); of the DUBIOUS WITCH COZY MYSTERY series, comprising three books (and counting); of the BEACHFRONT BAKERY COZY MYSTERY series, comprising six books (and counting); and of the CATS AND DOGS COZY MYSTERY series, comprising three books (and counting).
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Copyright © 2021 by Fiona Grace. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Sergey Gerashchenko & Akura Yochi used under license from Shutterstock.com.
BOOKS BY FIONA GRACE
LACEY DOYLE COZY MYSTERY
MURDER IN THE MANOR (Book#1)
DEATH AND A DOG (Book #2)
CRIME IN THE CAFE (Book #3)
VEXED ON A VISIT (Book #4)
KILLED WITH A KISS (Book #5)
PERISHED BY A PAINTING (Book #6)
SILENCED BY A SPELL (Book #7)
FRAMED BY A FORGERY (Book #8)
CATASTROPHE IN A CLOISTER (Book #9)
TUSCAN VINEYARD COZY MYSTERY
AGED FOR MURDER (Book #1)
AGED FOR DEATH (Book #2)
AGED FOR MAYHEM (Book #3)
AGED FOR SEDUCTION (Book #4)
AGED FOR VENGEANCE (Book #5)
AGED FOR ACRIMONY (Book #6)
DUBIOUS WITCH COZY MYSTERY
SKEPTIC IN SALEM: AN EPISODE OF MURDER (Book #1)
SKEPTIC IN SALEM: AN EPISODE OF CRIME (Book #2)
SKEPTIC IN SALEM: AN EPISODE OF DEATH (Book #3)
BEACHFRONT BAKERY COZY MYSTERY
BEACHFRONT BAKERY: A KILLER CUPCAKE (Book #1)
BEACHFRONT BAKERY: A MURDEROUS MACARON (Book #2)
BEACHFRONT BAKERY: A PERILOUS CAKE POP (Book #3)
BEACHFRONT BAKERY: A DEADLY DANISH (Book #4)
BEACHFRONT BAKERY: A TREACHEROUS TART (Book #5)
BEACHFRONT BAKERY: A CALAMITOUS COOKIE (Book #6)
THE CATS AND DOGS COZY MYSTERY
A VILLA IN SICILY: OLIVE OIL AND MURDER (Book #1)
A VILLA IN SICILY: FIGS AND A CADAVER (Book #2)
A VILLA IN SICILY: VINO AND DEATH (Book #3)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
Ali tugged at the collar of her shirt. The kitchen in her bakery was stiflingly hot, even at the early hour of eight a.m. She had all the windows in the small kitchen open, as well as the back door, but she was still sweating buckets.
“Piper, can you check the store cupboard and see if we have an extra fan?” Ali asked.
Her new employee was sitting on the countertop, still looking half asleep. She hopped down, landing inelegantly on her pale pink ballet flats.
“No problem, Boss!” she said in her lilting Georgia accent as she exited the kitchen.
A couple of weeks had passed since Ali had met Piper at that truck stop diner, and had, spur of the moment, offered her a job. Piper had appeared as shocked as Ali had been at herself. Ali was usually more measured than that, but the sight of Piper’s boss abusing her in front of the restaurant was too much. Ali felt a visceral pang at the injustice, and knew she had to rescue this twenty-two-year-old Georgia transplant and aspiring actress before all of her dreams were crushed.
Now, though, she wasn’t so sure. She didn’t regret it for a second, and she truly liked Piper, but her stream of mistakes never seemed to end. Ali, however, was determined to stick with it and build the young woman’s self-esteem back up.
Ali was also working very hard on her brand new product—macarons. Her last venture of cupcakes had brought a bunch of new customers to her bakery and put Seaside Sweets on the map, making it a go-to location for tourists to Willow Bay’s boardwalk. But Ali knew one item wouldn’t be enough to sustain interest. She had to branch out. French desserts were her passion, and by making macarons, she’d be able to make better use of her extensive training. Flex her culinary muscles, so to speak. Besides, who could resist a bright display of rainbow-colored macarons? Jenna from Bookworms had actually given her the inspiration. Her bookstore was decorated with rainbows and the kids loved it.
So Ali didn’t really mind the heat. She was too focused to really care, too wrapped up in the thrill of creation.
As she set about cracking the eggs and separating out the whites, Piper returned with a small table fan that would probably do next to nothing to dispel the heat. The young woman plugged it in and switched it on. Its useless blades whirred fruitlessly to life, wafting warm air around the kitchen ineffectually.
“It was worth a shot,” Ali said with a chuckle. “Now where is that stick of butter?”
“I’ll get it,” Piper said, in a bright, eager tone. “It’s in the fridge.”
Ali’s gaze followed her as she crossed the room to the industrial-size silver refrigerator. “Don’t you remember me asking you to take it out?” she asked. “It needs to be room temperature.”
“Oh, gee,” Piper said, as she disappeared from view behind the fridge door she’d just opened. “I’m sorry. It must’ve slipped my mind.”
Ali shook her head and went back to work. She tipped the almond flour and icing mixture into the food processor and began pulsing it, filling the entire kitchen space with a rattling, grinding noise that was amplified by the tiled floor and metal counters. The acoustics would be great if Ali wanted to record music rather than operate loud kitchen gadgets…
She turned off the machine and the grinding noise ceased. But all was not silent. Along
with the whirring of the useless desk fan, a new, different noise was now reverberating around the kitchen…
The microwave?
With a gasp, Ali spun on the spot. She discovered Piper was standing by the microwave with her back to her.
“What are you—” Ali began, before her question died in her throat.
She knew exactly what was happening. Piper had put the butter in the microwave to warm it up, and turned the machine on full blast.
“Piper! Stop!” Ali cried.
She ran over and pulled open the microwave door. Its light pinged on, illuminating the central glass plate where the rectangular pat of butter held its shape for a nanosecond—long enough for Ali to take a sharp inhale of relief—before disintegrating into a tsunami of bubbling, molten yellow liquid. It sloshed out of the machine and onto the countertop below. A steady, rhythmic, drip-drop beat began, as the butter splashed to the floor tiles at Ali’s feet.
Ali sighed out her premature breath of relief. Piper looked over at her and gave her a sheepish, apologetic smile.
“I thought you said it needed to be warm,” she said, meekly.
“I said it needed to be room temperature,” Ali replied with an air resignation.
The hapless young woman clasped her hands together in front of her chest as if begging for forgiveness. “Sorry, boss. I totally misunderstood. I’m not used to waking up this early. My brain isn’t switched on yet.”
You can say that again, Ali thought. But she forced herself to stay calm. Patience was a virtue, after all, and Piper had only just begun her training.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she told the new girl, feeling uncomfortable by just how bad Piper evidently felt. She grabbed a cleaning cloth. “Why don’t you take a break? Grab a coffee? Mistakes are bound to happen when you’re tired.”
Piper shook her head. “I don’t deserve a break. I’ll clean up this mess. You take the break. How long have you been here?”
“Since five a.m.,” Ali said, staring at the growing pool of oily yellow, wasted butter as it inched ever closer to her toes. And things only started going wrong once you got here… she thought, but did not say.
“Well then!” Piper exclaimed, holding her hand out for the cloth. “In that case, I insist. Take a break, boss. I’ll clean up this mess.” She gave Ali a hopeful smile.
It was clear she wanted to make amends, and Ali couldn’t help but feel bad for her. She’d made a bunch of mistakes in the past few weeks, but she was trying so hard. She deserved an A for effort. And surely she could be trusted to clean up melted butter? That was the point of hiring her in the first place, wasn’t it? To unburden Ali from some of the more menial tasks of running her own bakery, so she could stick to what she did best—baking. If she couldn’t even trust Piper to clean up properly, then what was the point of hiring her at all?
“Okay,” Ali said, handing the cloth over. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m starting to get caffeine withdrawal since my double espresso at breakfast.”
Piper waved the cloth in the air. “I won’t let you down, boss,” she said.
“I’m sure you won’t,” Ali replied, awkwardly. “And you really don’t need to call me boss. Ali will do.”
“Got it,” Piper said. Then with a cheeky wink, she added, “Boss.”
Ali swept her dark blonde braid behind her shoulder and headed out of the kitchen into the main bakery. Shards of the gorgeous California sunshine streamed through the gaps in the half-closed blinds, making the whole place glow. Ali felt a swell of contentment and gratitude in her chest for all she had achieved. She went to fire up the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot of liquid energy.
As the coffee machine began to hiss and steam, Ali heard the distinctive sound of knuckles wrapping against glass. She looked over. Delaney, her friend from the craft store, was peering through the door, dressed in tight black sports gear that showed off her toned physique, while bobbing her head to music in her ear buds. Seeing that she’d gotten Ali’s attention, she waved enthusiastically.
Ali smiled and rounded the counter to let her friend inside. As she crossed the peppermint green floor tiles, she noticed something propped against Delaney’s legs, something flat and wooden, and the approximate dimensions of a window.
Frowning with curiosity, Ali unclicked the lock and pulled the door open. The bell tinkled overhead and a warm gust of sea air gushed inside. The seagulls that liked to hang around outside the store momentarily took to the sky at the interruption, before settling back into their scavenging.
“Morning, Ali!” Delaney exclaimed, brightly, removing her ear buds and letting them drop against her chest on their wires. A little buzzy electronic beat radiated from them.
“Morning,” Ali replied, eyeballing the strange object resting against her friend’s lean legs. “What have you got there?”
“A present,” Delaney said, wiggling her blonde brows.
“For me?” Ali asked, touched.
Delaney nodded. “Yup. Just a little something-something I whipped up this morning.” She sniffed the air. “Ooh—do I smell coffee?”
“Yes, yes, come in,” Ali said, beckoning her friend inside. “I just brewed a pot.”
She moved back from the door, and Delaney bounced inside on the toes of her sneakers. She headed straight for the window booth—her favorite spot—and plonked herself down on the chintzy upholstery, before resting the intriguing flat, wooden thing beside her.
Ali hurried over to the counter and poured them both a mug of coffee, before quickly joining her at the window booth, eager to discover what exactly her crafty friend had made for her.
She placed the steaming mugs onto the tabletop and gestured to the flat wooden board with a nod. “So? What is it? I’m dying to know!”
Delaney grinned. She heaved the wooden thing up into her lap and turned it to face Ali.
“Ta-da!” she exclaimed, her nose and eyes peeping over the top to watch her friend’s reaction. “Meet Mr. Macaron, your new macaron mascot.”
It was a sandwich board, advertising Ali’s brand new macarons. Delaney had painted the most adorable-looking macaron man, with big, pink, bulging cheeks and a huge, cheery grin.
Ali gasped with surprised delight and clapped her hands together.
“Oh, Delaney!” she gushed. She took the board in both her hands, holding it out at arm’s length. “I love him! How can I ever repay you?”
Delaney pointed at the steaming mug of coffee in front of her. “You already have.”
“Delaney!” Ali squeaked. “You’re the best.”
She gazed with admiration from the cute chubby cartoon face to the pretty woman who’d become a fast friend since she moved to Willow Bay. Her heart swelled with gratitude.
“You’ll want to be careful with him,” Delaney said, taking a sip of coffee. “I used acrylic paint. It can take a bit of time to dry properly. Give it at least the night to dry before you put it anywhere near a child. You’ll have some pretty mad moms if that stuff gets on their clothes. It literally never washes out.”
“Duly noted,” Ali replied.
She smiled adoringly at her macaron mascot and was about to carry the sign to the safety of the kitchen when something strange out the window caught her attention.
“What is that?” she muttered.
She placed Mr. Macaron down and shuffled around in her seat, parting the window blinds to get a better look.
Emilio from the pizzeria next door was maneuvering a very odd-looking object into position beside his roped-off, outside seating area. It was several feet tall, plastic, and suspiciously sausage-shaped…
Delaney started to laugh. “Is it me, or is that a five-foot-tall salami?”
“It’s a five-foot-tall salami, all right,” Ali confirmed, peering nosily through the blinds just like her curtain-twitching neighbor always did to her. “Emilio and Marco are having one of their fights. This time it’s over their new meat feast pizza. Marco says he came up with the idea first,
then Emilio argued that actually he came up with the idea first, so Marco put up posters in his pizzeria’s windows, and now this monstrosity!” She flung her arm out at the salami statue Emilio was struggling to get into position. “I bet Thanksgiving in their family is a barrel of laughs.”
Delaney chuckled at her friend’s dry wit.
Ali let the blinds snap back into place and sank back into her seat. She took a sip of coffee, then almost spit it straight back out when the sudden sound of clattering from the kitchen startled her. Ali winced at the mental picture that formed in her mind, of her expensive pans being handled carelessly by Piper.
Delaney cast skeptical eyes in the direction of the kitchen. “How’s it all going… with her?” she asked in a pointed tone, silently mouthing the final word.
Ali put her mug back down and chewed her lip. She answered in a hushed voice. “Not great, to be honest. But it’s only been a couple of weeks.”
Sympathy flashed in Delaney’s blue eyes. “As your friend, Ali, I feel compelled to remind you that after the croissant accident, you said, and I quote, ‘I’ll give her two weeks.’ Those two weeks are up. When are you going to pull the plug on her? She’s a liability.”
Ali squirmed. She hated to admit it, but Delaney was right. She’d hired Piper to help lessen her workload. So far, it had increased tenfold. But firing the young girl because she was slow to learn the ropes seemed heartless to Ali.
“There’s been improvement,” she said, meekly, burying her face in the rim of her coffee cup.
“Sure,” Delaney replied, wryly, crinkling her nose. “The smell of burnt pastry has finally dissipated.”
“I mean with Piper,” Ali replied. “She’s trying so hard. She deserves a chance.”
“There are a million other kids out there you could be giving that chance to,” Delaney argued.
“But I like Piper,” Ali argued back. “I like her zest.”
Delaney rolled her eyes. “Having zest doesn’t make her qualified to be a bakery assistant.”