Creepy Cake Murder Read online

  Creepy Cake Murder

  A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 3

  Rosie A. Point

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  More for you…

  Thank you, Reader!

  Also by Rosie A. Point

  Copyright Rosie A. Point 2019.

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  Created with Vellum

  1

  “Put the killer cookie in the bag and hand over the cash,” I said, nudging Bee in the ribs. Or, at least, I tried too. Bee wore a fluffy yellow and black-striped bee costume that bulged outward. It made her arms seem short.

  “Very funny,” Bee said, as she fed another of our Halloween-themed cookies into a bag. She offered the customer who had bought it a smile and their change. “Happy Halloween. Please take a pamphlet.”

  “What are they about?” The woman asked, and lifted one off the countertop. She was dressed plainly, not in costume for Halloween.

  “There are stalls setup in the center of town today,” Bee said.

  “For Halloween,” I added in, helpfully. “They’re doing an entire weekend-long celebration in Carmel Springs. Dressing up isn’t required, but it’s heavily favored.”

  The woman thanked us and walked off, studying the flyer and chomping down on her Halloween-themed cookie. We’d done frosted cupcakes with Jack-O-Lantern decorations, skeleton cookies and even bat candies that turned the customers’ teeth red.

  It was the 31st of October, and the time had come for spooks and scares and bubbly cauldrons. Business in Carmel Springs, Maine, had never been better. Halloween was the time for candy, and we were flush with customers.

  It helped that we had such a fantastic spot to park the Bite-sized Bakery food truck. We were right on the beach, with the view of the steely gray ocean waves washing over the sandy beach and jagged rocks toward the pier’s side.

  A cool ocean breeze brushed through the truck, spreading the scent of freshly baked cookies and cupcakes through the surrounds. We’d gathered two long lines of customers itching to get their hands on our food, and none of that attention had waned throughout the morning and well into the afternoon.

  The next customer in line stepped up, and Millie, the editor of the paper, grinned at us. She’d come dressed as a witch with a tall black hat and a fake wart placed on the end of her nose. “What do you think?” she asked, turning in a circle.

  “You make for an impressive witch,” Bee said.

  “Don’t cast a spell on the truck, unless it’s one that will clean up after us,” I put in.

  Millie laughed. “Unfortunately, I left my spell book at home. I’ll tell you what I do need a spell for, convincing the mayor not to let the stalls run until midnight. Most of us have been out in the town center since 5 am this morning.”

  “You have to stay until midnight?” I asked, adjusting my deerstalker hat. “In this weather?” It was far too cold to stay out after 8 pm, or maybe that was just me. I’d never been good with cold weather.

  “Yes,” Millie grumbled. “And most of us have parties to attend. I mean, Franklin’s having a big blowout and everyone’s invited. Though, how he and his wife can afford it is beyond me. The holidays are so expensive.”

  “Yes, we were invited too,” I said.

  “I expect that’s because he’s currying for favor with the events committee,” Millie said, rolling her eyes. “You know, there’s the decorating competition every year, and the more exposure one gets, the better.” Millie paused. “Say, what are you this year, Ruby? It’s obvious that Bee is… well, a bee.”

  “Very perceptive of you, Millie dear,” Bee said, sweet as honey, as she served another customer a cupcake in a pink-and-green striped box.

  “I’m Sherlock Holmes.” I turned in a circle, tugging on the lapels of my coat. “You were the one who gave me the idea, actually, when you mentioned it last week.”

  “All you’re missing is the pipe.”

  “Ah!” I withdrew the fake plastic pipe from my pocket and pretended to puff on it. “The guy at the costume shop said I could blow bubbles with this.”

  “That will be a sight to behold.”

  I tucked the pipe away again. “What can I get for you today, Millie?”

  “I’ll have one of those creepy lookin’ cakes. The one with the spider on top,” she said.

  “Sure thing.” I made quick work of placing it in a box for her and handing it over. She paid, made me promise to come by her arts and crafts stall later on, then hurried off to enjoy her treat.

  Two new customers stepped up to the front of the lines. One wearing a full clown outfit with ruffles around the throat and white makeup that obscured their face entirely, and the other in vampire garb. Fake blood dripped from the corners of the vampire lady’s lips, and she wore sleek black wig, a few strands of blonde peeking out from underneath.

  “Good afternoon,” I said, merrily, to the vampire. “Happy Halloween.”

  “Happy Halloween.” She smiled, showing off fake fangs.

  The clown, who was, quite frankly, straight out of my nightmares, echoed the sentiment to Bee.

  “What can I get for you today?” I asked.

  “I’d love one of the, hmm, those delicious creepy killer cookies,” the vampire said, pointing to the specials board behind me.

  “That sounds great,” the clown said. “I’ll have one too.”

  I lifted two brown paper bags and turned to the cookie dispenser. A single creepy killer cookie, complete with candy-coated mask, sat beneath the glass.

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry. There’s only one left. How’s the next batch coming along, Bee?”

  “It will be ready in thirty minutes.”

  “I can’t wait that long,” the clown said, waspishly.

  “And neither can I.” The vampire lifted her chin. “Excuse me, but I was the one who ordered first. I should be the one who gets the cookie.”

  “Is that what you think?” Clown turned on vampire. If I’d known who these women were, it would likely have made the situation less humorous. As it was, it was quite something to witness a fake killer clown bearing down on a blood-streaked vampire with the ocean for a backdrop.

  “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?” the vampire countered. “You’d better back off. That’s my cookie.” She pointed at the other woman.

  “No, that’s my cookie. Just because you asked first, Theresa, doesn’t mean you get to decide who gets the cookie. That’s up to Ruby and Bee.”

  Bee and I exchanged a glance. “Well,” I said, slowly, trying to measure my words. “The other cookies will be ready in a half hour, and there are other treats available. We’ve got these creepy cupcakes, see? And then there are pumpkin pie slices, as well, with clotted cream.”

  “That’s my cookie.” The clown stomped her foot.

  “You’re acting like a petulant child,” the vampire replied, reaching underneath her wig and scratching frantically. Theresa, I recognized her now, was well-liked but a stickler for the rules. She was barely recognizable beneath all the makeup. “You don’t deserve anything sweet when you’ve got such a sour attitude.”

  “Please, ladies, calm down.” Some of the other customers had started sh
ifting and peering around at the back of the line. The last thing we needed was a fight to drive people away. We’d only just started drawing customers in again, after the horrible first three weeks we’d had in Carmel Springs.

  “Calm down? Well, I won’t be calm until I get what I deserve,” vampire Theresa hissed.

  “Oh, you’ll get what’s coming to you, all right.” The clown wore a horrible grin, made worse by her red clown lips.

  “That’s enough.” Bee removed the cookie and placed it in the bag. “There’s no need to fight. This line is first come, first serve. You’ll just have to select something else to eat.” She handed the bag, printed with our Bite-sized Bakery logo, over to the vampire.

  The clown huffed and puffed and slipped out of line. She stormed off, her bright red hair wobbling in the wind.

  “Thank you,” Theresa said. “I thought she’d never leave. Horrible woman. I hope I never see her again.” She paid and left, as well.

  “Apparently, tensions are high around Halloween.”

  “It’s the sugar,” Bee said, as she turned to serve another customer, “it’s a miracle no one’s gotten hopped up enough to commit a murder.”

  I flicked Bee with the edge of a dishtowel. “Terrible sense of humor.”

  “It’s served me well so far.” She winked.

  2

  “This is my favorite holiday,” Sam said, as she shrugged on her long, black cloak. Sam, the owner of the cozy Oceanside Guesthouse, had outdone us all in the costume department. She was dressed as a knight, wearing a cloak and armor and carrying a longsword—plastic, of course. “I can’t wait to get to the stalls and see what they have on offer. I heard there’s a kissing booth this year.”

  I pulled a face. That sounded like the strangest Halloween celebration of all, and potentially an embarrassing one. I had it on good authority that Detective Martin, the only handsome police officer in all of Carmel Springs, would be manning it.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out there before the sun sets and it gets too cold.” We’d been invited to Franklin Smith’s Halloween party tonight—this evening would be busy and festive, and as we stepped out onto the front porch of the guesthouse, I couldn’t help the excitement brewing in the pit of my belly.

  Sam’s guesthouse really set the scene too. She had Jack-O-Lantern’s along the railings, candles lighting their mean grins from within, as well as bats and skeletons and a ghost that flew across the porch with the click of a button.

  “Good heavens,” Bee said, wiggling her yellow and black striped fluffy bee butt. “If you don’t win the Halloween competition for best decorated house this year, it’s a crime.”

  Sam blushed. “I’ve been trying to win it for three years now, ever since I opened the guesthouse. I hope this is the year.”

  “Definitely,” I said, looping an arm through hers.

  Since we’d come to Carmel Springs, we’d had our ups and downs, but Sam had always been there for us, even if it meant dealing with grumpy Detective Jones or murders or break-ins in the middle of the night.

  I couldn’t wait to move past all the drama and enjoy an evening and the rest of our time in the small town. It was only a few weeks before we’d be moving onto the next place. We still hadn’t decided where that would be yet.

  Fifteen minutes of walking later, we approached the town’s center, where the festivities had well and truly begun. There were stalls of every kind, manned by folks the event’s organizing committee had hand-selected.

  Music thumped from speakers, children and adults in Halloween costumes roamed around, many of them messing up their makeup as they chomped down on the treats being sold. The rich scents of food drifted on the air—there was everything from cakes and sweets to pumpkin pie and coffee, turkey sandwiches and corn on the cob, butter dripping and melting down its sides.

  “I’m glad I didn’t get a chance to eat before we came,” Bee said, over the music, her hazel eyes alight with excitement.

  We strolled past the Haunted House that had been set up in the town hall. Screams rang out, and I froze then shook my head at myself. The last time I’d been in there, it had resulted in a murder investigation.

  You’ve got to relax, Ruby. Everything’s fine.

  It was better than fine. It was positively merry.

  I joined the line at one of the food stalls, my stomach grumbling for a few slices of roast turkey and gravy. Bee stepped in behind me, and Sam hurried off to go chat to one of her friends at another stall.

  “Would you look at that?” Bee poked me in the back.

  “What?”

  “We’re next to the kissing booth stall.”

  And, indeed, we were. Poor Detective Martin was positioned behind it, wearing a knight in shining armor costume, the front grate of his helmet pulled up, revealing his sweat-streaked face. He bent forward and kissed and elderly woman on the cheek. She cooed and patted him on the top of his head, the metal clanging loudly.

  “Eugh,” I said. “That can’t be fun. I wonder how he got roped into doing it.”

  “No idea.”

  We reached the front of the line and found Millie standing behind the stall, doling out hot pots of turkey and gravy with roasted potatoes on the side, plastic forks sticking from the food. “Hello,” she said, grinning broadly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “You’re working this stall too?”

  “All of them,” Millie said. “I’m sort of dabbling. Did you see the kissing booth?”

  I nodded, my cheeks coloring, thought there was no good reason for it. “That poor detective.”

  “Oh, yes, he was talked into it.” Millie pursed her lips as she dished turkey into one of the Styrofoam bowls. “Well, talked is a phrase I used lightly. Forced, more like. The yearly Halloween kissing booth is cursed. The person who did it the year before never does it again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they have to wear that horrible getup,” Millie said, gesturing to the silvery costume. “And they hardly ever wash it. The struggle is finding someone who fits the suit and who doesn’t mind kissing the entire population of females in Carmel Springs, most of whom save up all their flirting for this very night.”

  “Heavens,” Bee said. “Shall we join the line too?”

  “Of course not!” It took me a minute to register that Bee had been joking. Once again, I was a victim of her wicked sense of humor. “I mean, no thank you. I just want some turkey.”

  “One order of turkey and gravy coming up,” Millie chimed in, “minus the kissing.”

  “Because kissing and turkey do go hand-in-hand.” Bee wriggled her eyebrows at me.

  I opened my mouth, a scathing response on the tip of my tongue.

  A yell cut across the merriment and my thoughts. “Stop right there! You! Stop him. Someone, help!”

  I spun toward the noise.

  A ripple ran through the crowd of festival goers, and a young man, his hair dark and hanging in his eyes, pushed past people, a skeleton with wobbling paper legs tucked under his arm. His lips were painted black, and they parted around a broad smile.

  “What on earth?”

  But the young man was gone as fast as he’d come, sprinting off into the crowd. A portly guy appeared behind him, his cheeks red. “Someone! Anyone. You!” He pointed at Detective Martin, who was caught in the clutches of another gray-haired femme fatale. “Detective! Go after that young man, right now. He stole my skeleton.”

  Detective Martin mumbled something, but the woman who had a grip on his head wouldn’t let go.

  “Useless!” yelled the ruddy-cheeked man and rushed off.

  “What on earth was that about?” I asked.

  Millie shook her head. “Looks like that new boy is causing trouble again.” She handed over my pot of sliced roast turkey. “Shawn Clark,” she said. “He came to town a few days ago and he’s been nothing but trouble ever since. Vandalizing things. Stealing. And did you see that makeup he was wearing? That’s not a Hallowee
n costume. Poor Mayor Jacobsen.”

  “That was the mayor?” I asked.

  “The very same. Looks like he’s having a terrible Halloween. Serves him right, if you ask me. We’re all exhausted. None of us wanted to be here all day,” Millie whispered, as she accepted my money. “You two have fun. Try not to get into any trouble.”

  “No promises.” Bee tucked into a roast potato, chewing enthusiastically.

  3

  Franklin Smith’s house stood out like a sore skeletal thumb—now, that usually would have been an insult from me, but since it was Halloween, it meant quite the opposite. The man, who had worked at the local post office for years, had gone all out. His house was covered in spooky lights, ones that glimmered and cast light on the houses, identical brick-faced buildings, either side of it.

  “Goodness,” Sam said, as we approached, still full from all the delicious treats at the Halloween fair. “Look at this place. And I thought I had decorated the guesthouse nicely. Looks like I stand no chance at winning the competition this year, after all.”

  “Nonsense,” Bee said. “The guesthouse looks way spookier than this.”

  But, privately, I had to agree with Sam’s sentiment. I wasn’t well-acquainted with Franklin, he had probably been to the truck once or twice in the past week, but he’d never struck me as the decorating type. He’d been downright mean and closed-off the last time I’d seen him. But I had to give him credit where it was due. The house looked amazing.

  And it was even creepier and cooler once we got inside. He’d put out blood red candles, and spooky masks, there were Jack-O-Lanterns and spidery webs hanging around. The house brimmed with people in their costumes.