S'more Murder Read online

  S’more Murder

  A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 14

  Rosie A. Point

  Contents

  Dear Sir/Madam,

  Guest List

  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!

  Copyright Rosie A. Point 2020.

  Join my no-spam newsletter and receive an exclusive offer. Details can be found at the back of this book.

  Happy Holidays!

  Created with Vellum

  Dear Sir/Madam,

  You are cordially invited to attend Francescan Taupin’s—the Most Popular Person in Prattlebark Village—Valentine’s Day Ball at the Green Mountain Resort.

  Join us for a weeklong celebration of all that is love, joy, and friendship. Be sure to bring your phones and take plenty of photos of the event for social media. It promises to be a spectacle of wonder much like the hostess herself.

  Please find enclosed an extensive introductory guest list to associate you with the attendees.

  Francescan anticipates your timeous and positive response.

  Sincerely,

  Peter Bierman

  Miss Francescan Taupin’s Assistant

  P.S. Please don’t forget to bring gifts. They are welcome and expected.

  Guest List

  Francescan Taupin—The hostess of the Valentine’s Day Ball taking place at the Green Mountain Resort. Glamorous and the most popular person in Prattlebark Village (soon to be the most popular person in Vermont) you may identify her by her penchant for wearing pink, designer clothes, and her luxurious pink hair.

  Madeline Sweete—The second most popular person in Prattlebark Village. Madeline is a woman to be associated with. Though she dresses too modestly, her blonde ringlets lend her an innocence that belie her true nature.

  Charles ‘Stony’ Williams—Tall, dark, and handsome, Stony is an eligible bachelor attending the ball in search of a young woman to make his wife. (Or so the rumors say.) A notorious flirt who sets hearts aflutter.

  Phillip Rorke—With fiery red hair, muscles, and a lot of height, Phillip Rorke is another eligible young man attending the ball. It’s rumored that he’s seeking a woman to take home to his parents…

  Frank Porter—Shorter than the other bachelor, but no less handsome, Frank works as a carpenter’s apprentice and is due to take over his father’s business in Prattlebark Village. Available to all interested female parties as Francescan does not want to date him.

  Katrina Sweete—Madeline Sweete’s redheaded sister, she is tagging along in the hopes of finding a man who will accept her.

  Peter Bierman—The assistant and driver to Francescan Taupin, the most popular and sought-after woman in Prattlebark Village. Dark hair and strikingly good looking.

  1

  “Something’s wrong with the s’more pots,” I whispered, wringing my hands and glancing around the interior of the events hall at the Green Mountain Resort. Snow tickled the windows, but a warm fire crackled in the grand fireplace filling the space with cozy heat.

  Bee frowned at the heart-shaped pots of gooey goodness. We’d designed them especially for the Valentine’s Day event that Francescan, the most popular person in Prattlebark Village, had hired us to cater.

  Heart-shaped tin ‘pots’ containing melted chocolate and marshmallows—artfully caramelized with a blowtorch—accented with graham crackers and sprinkled with dustings of cocoa. They were meant to be the showstoppers of the weeklong vacation event.

  But no one had touched them or any of the other food we’d prepared for tonight’s introductory get together.

  “What do you mean there’s something wrong with them?” Bee asked, wriggling her nose from side-to-side. “We spent all afternoon making these. They’re perfect. Heavens, they’re being kept warm and sticky by temperature-controlled trays.”

  “It’s just… no one’s eating them.” I chewed the inside of my cheek and scanned the hall.

  “That’s because no one’s eating. Period.” Bee rolled her eyes. “You know what Francescan and her friends are like, Ruby. They’re all about diets and zero carbs and wearing too much pink.”

  “I like the color pink.” I gestured to my striped, pink and lime apron.

  “Everything in moderation.”

  But Bee was right. I didn’t have to worry about the food being bad. Besides, this evening’s event was a test run for our delicious treats. We’d been tasked with catering the desserts for Francescan’s party—she’d concluded that the four-star mountain resort didn’t have the right type of candies and treats—and so far, it had been a strange start to the trip.

  Barely anyone, apart from Petey, Francescan’s dark-haired assistant and driver, had spoken to us. He sat at the bar now, sipping a soda and occasionally checking with staff members at the resort that everything went to plan.

  There were two camps of people at the Valentine’s Day celebration in the mountains outside of Prattlebark Village.

  The attendees, who were glamorous, wearing sparkly dresses or expensive suits. And the help, like us. The two didn’t mingle.

  “You know, I tried saying hello to Francescan earlier and she ignored me flat,” I said.

  “Not sure why you’re surprised,” Bee replied—she was Francescan’s worst critic. “She’s not a good person, Ruby. You’ve seen the way she treats people. She only cares about how much she can use people, not about who they are.”

  I didn’t want to believe the worst of our client, but Bee had a point. Francescan had threatened a librarian in front of us and was a notorious gossip.

  A young woman around Francescan’s age with gorgeous blonde ringlets and a rosebud mouth, and a stocky blond man with an easy smile approached the table.

  “Wow,” the woman said. “These look amazing. What are they called?”

  “S’more hot pots,” I announced, trying not to show how relieved I was that someone was finally showing interest.

  “I’ll take one, please,” she said.

  Bee prepared it by placing it on a plate and handing it over sans a smile.

  “Thank you,” the blue-eyed woman said. “I’m Madeline, by the way, Madeline Sweete. This is my friend, Frank.”

  “Friend?” He raised a tufty eyebrow, but Madeline didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him.

  “And you are?” Madeline extended a hand toward Bee.

  “Bee,” she replied.

  “Ruby.” I shook her dainty hand next. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” she said. “Did you hear we’ll be snowed in tonight? Apparently, the passes are treacherous.” Madeline accepted a spoon from me. “Do you want a spoon, Frank?”

  “Naw,” he replied, with a slight Southern twang to his accent. “I don’t like stuff that hurts my teeth.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” Madeline sighed. “I guess I’ll have to eat all this deliciousness by myself.” She gave us a sneaky wink before wandering off. She tucked her floor length white dress aside as she seated herself at a polished wooden table beside the dancefloor.

  “She’s nice,” I said.

  “Nicer than any of the others,” Bee agreed, begrudgingly.

  “Oh Bee, are you angry we took this job? I know coming up here for Valentine’s Day wasn’t your i
dea of fun.”

  “Of course, I’m not angry,” Bee said, laughing. “These people are paying good money for our services. It’s a pity they don’t eat any of it. So wasteful.”

  “Yeah. But it’s nice to get away from Prattlebark Village for a while.”

  “And even nicer that—”

  “Wretched witch!” The cry came from the center of the dancefloor. It was followed by a splatter of fluid hitting the ground.

  Bee and I snapped to attention. Though I couldn’t speak for Bee, at this point, we expected the worst whenever there was any kind of outcry, hubbub, or cacophony.

  Thankfully, there were no dead bodies in sight.

  Just Francescan, the hostess with the pinkest hair to grace God’s green earth, standing inches from another, shorter woman. Francescan held an empty glass, the contents of which she’d just emptied down the front of the other woman’s dress.

  “You’re insane!” The woman slopped water off her orange pinafore. The color clashed horribly with her red hair and didn’t suit the chic style of the evening’s event.

  “I told you, Katrina, you do not mess with my man.”

  “You’re delusional. I haven’t gone—”

  “Shut up!” Francescan yelled. “Like, you’re lucky I don’t have you thrown off the premises.” She glared at the other woman, daring her to speak, but Katrina’s pudgy face had gone as flaming red as her hair, and her lips were drawn into a line.

  “That’s what I thought,” Francescan snapped, before turning on her glittery heel and marching for the exit, grabbing her coat from an attendant on the way.

  “Told you she was a meanie,” Bee whispered.

  One thing was for certain, being on a frosty getaway with Francescan would be interesting. I hoped not too interesting.

  2

  Francescan’s outburst had had one good side-effect. In the ensuing tension, everyone had turned to the desserts table to eat away their stress. There was nothing quite like sugar to dispel drama. Even poor Katrina, in her lurid orange dress, managed to scarf down two s’more hot pots and a cupcake.

  All in all, we had served up just about everything we’d prepared, barring three s’more hot pots that screamed my name.

  “I could eat them right now,” I said, my gaze fixed on the treats as Bee packed the last of our catering things into a carry case. “We should take them back to our bungalow and have a midnight feast.”

  “So much for there being something wrong with them,” Bee said, narrowing an eye at me. “I’m not going to argue, though. I gained about two pounds developing the recipe for these sweethearts. They’re as good as they look and smell.”

  “Then it’s agreed. Midnight snack party before bed.”

  “You know, I always have nightmares after we eat treats late at night,” Bee said. “But in this case, it might be worth it.”

  The hall had emptied out, the only folks left behind were the cleaning staff at the Green Mountain Resort. We’d already donated the last of the cupcakes and donuts to them for their evening snack, so I didn’t feel too selfish about snatching up the hot pots.

  Bee and I packed up our equipment, donned our fluffy coats, gloves, scarves, and hats, and made our way out into the parking area in front of the events hall. We’d decided to leave our truck out here—easier access for the night’s festivities as it was closest to the kitchens—and we packed our equipment into the back of the truck, hurriedly.

  Francescan’s pink Chevrolet—an older model that had been refurbished—sat in the space next to our truck. It glimmered by the lights spilling from the event hall’s windows. Glamorous, just like she was.

  “It’s colder than a dead man’s kiss out here,” Bee said.

  “Bee!” I hissed, hugging our small Tupperware of hotpots to my chest. “Don’t say that.”

  “What?” She shut the truck’s side door with a clunk and locked it. Snow skittered down from the heavens, dusting her hat and shoulders.

  “Dead man’s kiss,” I replied. “It’s bad luck.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since we can barely go a week without tripping over a corpse,” I said, as we set off toward the paved path that led between the trees and toward our shared bungalow. The snow had been trampled into the stones as people wound their way back to their living quarters, but I made a point of stepping on the fresh snow, enjoying the crunch of it beneath my boots.

  “You have a point,” Bee said. “But heavens, Ruby, it’s not like anything’s going to happen up here. We’re with people we know. Besides, I highly doubt that me saying dead man’s kiss is somehow invoking a—” Bee stumbled in the dark, her arms flying out to the sides.

  Her hand struck my Tupperware and it slipped from my grip.

  “The hot pots!” I yelled. I caught the Tupperware by the tips of my fingers. “I got them! I saved them!”

  “Ruby.”

  “Don’t worry, Bee. They’re safe. Everything’s fine. I mean, apart from the fact that you clearly cursed us with the whole dead man’s kiss thing.”

  “I think you might be right.”

  “What do you mean?” I straightened, turning toward her.

  The lamplight along the path was sparse, and the decorative lights strung between them were off, perhaps because it was so late, or because the snow had interfered with them.

  Still, I could make out Bee’s pale face in the gloom. Paler than usual. She was several paces back from where she’d stumbled, shaking her head.

  “What is it? Why are you—?”

  Bee pointed at the ground in front of her. To the right of the path, a glittery shoe lay on its side.

  No, not just a shoe. An entire foot.

  “I tripped over a body,” Bee whispered. “There’s someone in the snow.”

  And sure enough, the foot was attached to a leg, and the rest of a person, who was half-hidden by the blanket of falling snow.

  “Bee,” I squeaked. “What if they’re—what if—?”

  “We’d better call 911.”

  “But they can’t get up here,” I replied, taking my phone out of my pocket and switching on its flashlight app. “You heard what Madeline said earlier, the roads are closed.”

  “Well then, let’s just leave them here, right?” Bee flopped her hands at me, frowning. “Really, Ruby, what do you suggest we do other than call 911? We can’t just let the—”

  The glittery shoe moved along the paving stones, and I nearly lost my dinner. And the s’more pots. Again.

  “It moved!” I squealed. “The foot moved! The shoe!”

  “They’re alive.” Bee dropped to her knees in the snow. “Quick, Ruby. Help!”

  I dropped the Tupperware and joined my bestie in the snow. We scraped it away from the person lying on the ground, more of her appearing—a pink coat, strands of sodden pink hair, a tan face, glittery eye makeup, her eyelashes frosted with snow.

  “It’s Francescan!” I cried.

  Bee groaned and tried to pretend she hadn’t. “I’ll go get the nurse. You stay here with… her.”

  “Francescan, can you hear me?” I patted her cheek gently. “Francescan?”

  Bee had already hurried off in search of help—the resort had its own nurse and doctor on hand for emergencies, as well as a sick bay.

  “Francescan, can you hear me? It’s going to be OK. I think you had a fall, but Bee is going to get the doctor. All right? All right?” It struck me how silly I was, trying to talk to an unconscious woman.

  And what if she hadn’t fallen? Heavens, surely, someone who’d left the party would’ve found her lying here. Unless the snow had covered her much earlier in the evening and everyone who’d come down the darkened path had simply walked by her?

  I tried piecing it together, hoping against hope that this was an accident.

  But what if it wasn’t? What if someone had attacked her and left her out here to perish?

  She had fought with Katrina earlier in the night.

  “It’s OK,”
I said, this time more to myself than Francescan. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  Not for the first time, my gut told me otherwise.

  3

  “Yeah, I’m totally fine,” Francescan said, fiddling with her compact and checking that her makeup was intact.

  Sunlight streamed through the windows into the sick bay—it consisted of a bed, a nurse’s station, and several machines I didn’t care to identify. Hospitals made me queasy. The log cabin theme gave the room a cozy feel, at least, so it was bearable.

  Francescan had woken in the early hours of the morning and, according to the rumors, had sent the nurse off to fetch her bags, makeup, a pot of coffee, and three hot towels, each of which she’d sent back for being too hot.

  Needless to say, the doctor had announced that she was on her way to a full a recovery. From a knock to the head. From behind.

  “And you didn’t see anything weird?” I asked, sitting in the cushy chair next to her bed.

  The doctor had wrapped a bandage around her head which she’d promptly ripped off because it was the wrong color. The only way they’d been able to keep it on was by finding a pink one.

  Bee, for obvious reasons, had opted out of visiting Francescan. Those obvious reasons being that Bee couldn’t stand to breathe the same air as her.

  “Define weird,” Francescan replied, the compact emitting a puff of powder as she snapped it shut.