Bite-sized Bakery 06 - Murder Glazed Donuts Read online

  Murder Glazed Donuts

  A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 6

  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

  Chapter 19

  More for you…

  Thank you, Reader!

  Also by Rosie A. Point

  Copyright Rosie A. Point 2019.

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  Created with Vellum

  1

  “Are you trying to choke me?” The voice whip-snapped over the chattering crowd gathered in front of the food truck’s open window.

  I scanned the crowd, searching for the source of the disturbance, but no one stood out. Then again, it was pretty difficult to pick anyone out in the crowd. Bee and I had just arrived in Muffin, Massachusetts and set up our truck in front of the duck pond. Customers had swarmed in the minute we’d opened up ‘shop,’ and we hadn’t stopped selling our special of the week since.

  The strawberry glazed donuts were a bestseller.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked my baking bestie, Bee.

  “No. Hear what?” Bee had tied back her silver-gray hair today, and wore her signature Bite-sized Bakery apron, striped in pastel green and pink over a thick cream sweater. She was halfway through a transaction, handing over a donut to a waiting customer. “Hear what, Ruby?”

  “They’re trying to choke me!” The voice came again. A woman speaking, for sure, but she didn’t sound in distress. She was… angry.

  A flash of red, followed by a few ‘ows’ and ‘heys’ caught my attention. An overweight woman in a turquoise tent of a dress, her hair dyed a shade of crimson that had come from a bottle, elbowed members of the crowd left and right. She stomped on feet, her blue eyes blazing hatred and locked onto me.

  What on earth? What have I done?

  “Bee,” I said. “We’ve got a code red incoming.”

  “Excuse your pun,” Bee replied.

  Code red was our way of saying a dissatisfied customer was inbound. That or we’d just witnessed a fight, a murder, or walked in on a dead body. All occurrences that had been frequent during our time in Carmel Springs, Maine.

  Oof, I have to stop thinking about that town. Ever since we’d left after Christmas, my heart had been trapped back in Maine. Which wasn’t part of the plan—it was time to move on. That was the reason I’d gotten a food truck in the first place.

  The redheaded firecracker reached the counter. She slapped a donut down onto it, smooshing crumbs and glaze everywhere. The customer in the line next to her flinched away, staring.

  “Ma’am?”

  “You’re trying to choke me,” the woman erupted, pointing a crimson fingernail at me. “You and your disgusting donuts.”

  “Excuse me, could you please lower your voice? You’re upsetting the other customers,” I said.

  “Upsetting the other…” The woman’s cheeks pinked. “Upsetting them? Who cares about them? What about me?”

  “What’s the problem?” Bee asked, always to the point. She didn’t take kindly to being yelled, and she was protective of me.

  “There’s a fly in my donut,” the woman said, pointing at the ruined treat. “Right there, see?”

  I peered over at the flat counter and the crumbs spread across it. Pieces of the donut had been scattered everywhere, but there was no fly. I opened my mouth to tell her so, but that probably wouldn’t go well.

  And the other customers had started getting antsy. The last thing I needed was another repeat of our first weeks in the last town. We’d gotten involved in a murder, and that had changed the public’s opinion of us at first.

  A fly in the donut glaze wasn’t as bad, but it was still a reason not to visit the truck. I had to handle this perfectly. Diplomatically. I had to—

  “There’s no fly in that donut,” Bee announced.

  The woman glared. “How dare you. Are you calling me a liar?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m calling you.”

  The redhead gaped, her mouth opening and shutting. The other customers were just as round-eyed.

  I patted the air in Bee’s direction then turned back to the lady. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

  “Misty,” she said. “Misty Murphy.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Murphy. My name is Ruby and this is Bee. We’re new to town. If there was a bug in your donut, I’d be happy to provide you with another one. Would that work for you? Free of charge?”

  Misty gritted her teeth. “No. I don’t want your disgusting donuts. You’re horrible bakers. Your donuts are stale, anyway.”

  “That’s not true,” Bee growled. “We baked them fresh this morning. You’re—”

  “Bee.” I had to keep things calm. It wasn’t easy—the words had brought an angry boil in my veins. “Miss Murphy, I’d like to—”

  “Save your breath.” Misty shoved her hand toward me. “You’ve got nothing interesting to say.” She stormed off, her red hair glinting in the watery sunlight.

  A silence followed her departure. Then the gossiping started.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing myself to take deep breaths.

  “What a horrendous person,” Bee said, and accepted money from the customer in front of her.

  She wasn’t wrong, but there was no use crying over… spilled donut?

  “I’d better clean up this mess.” I hurried past Bee and out of the truck. What a terrible start to our first day in Muffin. I’d hoped the friendly name of the town would carry over to the attitude of the locals.

  I made quick work of dusting off the counter, apologizing to the customers lining up next to me.

  One of them, a young woman with sparkling blue eyes like two gems in her pale face, greeted me with a warm smile. She was pretty enough to be a model, her golden hair in a bun atop her head. “Hello,” she said, stepping out of the line and touching my arm.

  “Hi. May I help you with something?”

  “Oh, no, no, I’ll join the line again for a cupcake, but I just wanted to talk to you about Misty.”

  “Misty?” I asked. “What about her?”

  “Well, I wanted you to know that you shouldn’t take her terrible behavior seriously,” the blonde woman said. “Most of the people in Muffin don’t really like her. And I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but after what she said to you, I just wanted you to understand that no one takes her seriously.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh, all right.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say. But I was definitely intrigued. This is not another case to investigate, Holmes. Keep it together. “Thanks for trying to set me at ease,” I said. “I’m Ruby by the way.” I brushed off my hand and presented it.

  “Harper Kelly.” She tugged on her ear, shyly. Her fingers were splotched with what looked like blue and yellow paint. “It’s lovely to meet you and to have baked goods in town. We’ve had a serious lack of anything sweet like this lately.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked, stepping away from the truck so that the other customers could file in and place their orders with Bee.

  “Well, because of Misty,” Harper said. “She owns the local bakery, but she’s t
ruly terrible at baking. No one wants to go there anymore. The Honey Bun in the center of town? Yeah, it’s in the perfect spot to bring in business but… I had a donut from there the other day, and it had mold growing on it. Swore I’d never go back.”

  Eugh. That explained why Misty had thrown a full-blown adult tantrum about our donuts.

  Harper shook her head. “People are saying Misty’s dangerous—her father is the mayor—but I don’t believe that for a second. She’s just a sour woman who can’t get her way.”

  “It sounds like she’s gotten to you.”

  “Oh, she’s gotten to everyone. Never has a nice thing to say.” Harper tittered a laugh. “But what can we do?” She sighed. “We’re stuck with her. I only hope that no one gets food poisoning from her bakery. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  The information was a lot to process. I looked around, but Misty Murphy was long gone. “Can I get you something to eat?” I asked. “A cupcake, you said? No mold, I promise.”

  “That would be lovely,” Harper said, rewarding me with another sugary smile.

  Muffin already wasn’t what I’d expected or hoped for. I got the feeling that things were going to be just as interesting here as they’d been in Carmel Springs. Was that a good or a bad thing?

  Heavens, only time would tell.

  2

  “You don’t have to do this, Ruby,” Bee said, tucking her hair behind her prominent ears. “I don’t think the woman deserves any donuts, let alone your time.”

  It was late afternoon on the truck, and we were finally closing up after an eventful day. Thankfully, Misty hadn’t come back to see us again, but she’d still been on my mind. I was curious about her bakery—after all, it would make sense that if she was the competition, I should probably check the place out.

  I grasped a box of Bite-sized Bakery donuts to my chest, admiring the sunset over the duck pond. Muffin was as quaint as it had looked when we’d researched it online—a small town with brick sidewalks, removed from the ocean, but with a little pond and park, and a forest on its outskirts. This was the type of town that had boutique shops and cutesy restaurants, and I couldn’t wait to explore it.

  “You know,” Bee said, “we still have to check in at the inn.”

  “I’ll catch up with you there.” I brought my phone out of the pocket of my apron. “All I need is the name.”

  “The Runaway Inn,” Bee said.

  “Noted. And I’m going to the Honey Bun Bakery if you need to catch up with me for whatever reason.”

  “I still don’t see why.”

  “We need to start out our sales stint in this town with a feeling of good will,” I replied. “And if that means bringing Misty some donuts and buttering her up, then so be it.”

  “I think you mean glazing her up. And I still don’t agree with this. I don’t like the woman. She tried to chase off our customers.” Bee was positively mutinous. Mess with the truck or her friends, and she’d go to the ends of the earth to ensure the perpetrator paid for what they’d done.

  “I’m going, Bee,” I said, laughing.

  “Fine. Fine. Just try not to find any dead bodies this time.”

  “Yuck. Don’t jinx me.” I set off down the sidewalk adjacent to the truck and took a left, winding my way past wrought-iron lampposts and brick buildings. I passed a candy store with pin-striped overhangs and window planters waiting for the first flowers of spring.

  The people I passed by smiled or nodded, others, mostly teenagers, were wrapped up in conversations or scrolling on their phones. It was such a pleasant afternoon, I was tempted to take a seat on one of the benches next to a lamppost and have a donut myself.

  But that wouldn’t help the ‘argument with the baker’ situation—the only baker in town, if Harper Kelly was to be believed. There was another reason I didn’t want to get on this Misty’s bad side—we likely wouldn’t hang around for long in this town, but for the time we were here, if there was a way I could help her business and mine at the same time, why not?

  Especially if what Harper had said was true. If Misty’s bakery was in trouble, there might’ve been a way I could contribute. If I told Bee that, she’d think I was a bleeding heart.

  I frowned, turned in a circle and sought out the Honey Bun Bakery, but it certainly wasn’t in the central street that ran through the town—Gallop Road.

  “Excuse me,” I said, tapping a lady on the arm. “Do you know where I can find the Honey Bun Bakery?”

  The elderly woman pulled a face. “Sure. It’s right around the corner that way. But, dear, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. I heard Malory Jones got sick after eating one of their cream cookies.”

  “Thank you.” I offered her a smile then started off for the bakery.

  Apparently, Misty had more trouble than Harper had let on. It was no wonder she’d come to the truck this morning and freaked out. She was probably under a lot of pressure—that didn’t make the behavior right, of course, but I could understand the stress.

  My food truck had been trashed last year.

  I entered the side street off Gallop and stalled after a few steps.

  It was strangely dingy here—with the Honey Bun the main feature on the curving street. The windows of the store next to it were empty, and the buildings opposite were clothing stores that had seen better days. They were already closed, and the card signs in their windows were faded.

  It was like I’d stepped out of a sunny street and into a different town. Clouds rolled in overhead, and I half-expected a rumble of thunder, a lightning crack, and the sudden appearance of a masked stranger in the shadowy alley between the bakery and the empty shop next to it.

  “Well, all right then,” I whispered, tapping my fingers on the box.

  The bakery’s glass front door was closed and one of the letters of its sign had fallen off—it read the ‘Hone Bun Bakery.’ The lights were on inside, though, and the placard in the door read ‘OPEN.’

  There was no queue leading out of the store, and, honestly, the inside of the place looked pretty dead.

  I opened the door, slowly, my eyes narrowed.

  “Misty, are you in—?” The words got lost in my throat.

  The box dropped from my numb fingertips and hit the floor. Donuts burst from it and rolled in every direction.

  Right in front of me, in the center of the cracked linoleum bakery floor, lay Misty Murphy, facedown, a knife sticking from her back.

  The scream tore out of my throat before I could stop it, and I backpedaled, slamming into the bakery door. I wrenched it open and rushed into the street, heat thumping through my head. Before Carmel Springs, and when I’d first encountered a dead body, I’d been beyond squeamish.

  But over the months I’d spent in the small town, I’d grown accustomed to the sights and horrors of a murder mystery. Why was I shocked now, then?

  This was the last thing I’d expected. Muffin, like any other small town, had its dark and dangerous secrets.

  I slipped my phone out of my apron and dialed 911.

  3

  Bee and I sat side-by-side on one of the benches in the street—I’d called her moments after reporting Misty’s untimely demise to the cops. She patted me on the arm, occasionally, but switched out the consoling attitude for a snort or a shake of her head once in a while.

  “What did I say about discovering a dead body?” Bee whispered, as another policeman rushed by, heading toward the crime scene that had been cordoned off behind us.

  “Hey,” I replied, “this was hardly intentional.”

  “Still, you just had to go take the mean woman donuts,” Bee sighed. “Bless your heart and soul, Ruby, you’re too good for people like this Misty woman.”

  “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

  “I can.” Bee pursed her lips. “If she treated you like dirt, just imagine how she acts with people she knows. That kind of wanton disregard is often met with a sticky end.”

  I paled. “I was just getting us
ed to the peace and quiet of not having witnessed a murder.”

  “Here we go again,” Bee said, in that resigned tone. “Another mystery that’s fallen into our laps. It’s like we’re magnets for mayhem.”

  I didn’t answer her, though it certainly seemed that way.

  “You know what this looks like, don’t you?” Bee asked.

  “Don’t tell me. I seem suspicious again?”

  “Let’s think about it for a second.” She had lowered her voice as officers swarmed past us—one of them had told us to wait until a detective could be spared to take our statements and had promptly retreated to his cruiser where he sat, staring. As if he thought we’d run.

  “Don’t say it, Bee.”

  But my best friend in baking wouldn’t be discouraged. “You had an argument with Misty, people witnessed it, and now, you’re at the scene of the crime with a box of donuts that you managed to drop in there next to her corpse.”

  I slapped a hand to my mouth to keep from gagging.

  “Since when are you squeamish again?” Bee asked.

  “You argued with her too,” I said, from behind my hand. “And how could anyone think that a minor disagreement would be a motive for murder?”

  “Hmm.” Bee tapped her chin. “Rubes, you know that there’s just about every type of motivation for murder and that there’s an abundance of crazy people in the world. The police will be thinking that too. The newcomer baker arrives and suddenly the old baker, who was seen fighting with her might I add, has been stabbed in the back.”

  “I know. I know, all right? But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”