The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set Page 10

  Honey shook her head. “I just—I—” She dissolved into a puddle of tears.

  Bee shifted, clearing her throat. “Well. That’s uncomfortable.”

  “Let me handle this,” I whispered to my friend.

  “Rather you than me.” Bee didn’t trust easily. But she didn’t panic either when serious things happened. I liked to think that my friend’s strengths filled in the spots occupied by my shortcomings and vice versa.

  I joined Honey and placed a hand on her forearm. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course I’m not all right,” Honey said. “Everything is an utter disaster. I’m smudging my makeup, William hasn’t even hugged me yet this morning, and I don’t have anyone to cater my wedding.”

  “Oh, that’s—”

  “My wedding planner was useless, so I had to fire her, and why I had to have my wedding in such a disgusting, pitiful small town is beyond me. This is not fair. It’s not fair!”

  I took a breath. Disgusting small town? That was hardly how I would’ve described Carmel Springs. Sure, I hadn’t had the best experiences here, but it wasn’t disgusting. It was quaint, and most of the people were lovely.

  It seemed that Honey was either expecting too much or something else entirely. She struck me as the type who wanted a ceremony fit for a princess.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, withdrawing my hand from her arm.

  “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” she snapped, clicking her manicured nails together. “It wasn’t you who chose this place to—” Her eyes widened, and it was quite shocking—the smudged dark eye shadow made her look like a stunned raccoon. “Wait a second! I know who you are.”

  “Oh?” I glanced at Bee, who shook her head. “You do?”

  “You’re the woman who owns that silly little food truck.”

  “Uh.”

  “You cook! You bake! You can cater my wedding!”

  “Oh boy,” Bee said.

  “I don’t know if I’m the best person for that,” I said, carefully. “We only do desserts.”

  “That’s fine! I need a series of cupcakes for the wedding. I want a cupcake tower instead of a cake. You can do that, right? I mean, it’s simple enough for you to handle. I know you’re not gourmet or anything…”

  “We specialize in gourmet cupcakes.” I lifted my chin.

  “Perfect. You’ll do it then. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you well. Above your rate,” Honey said. “Name the price, and it’s yours, just please, please help me. The wedding is next week.”

  “That’s awfully short notice,” I said.

  “Please?”

  Business had been slow, and helping Honey might give us more credibility in town. From what I’d heard, the groom had a lot of family in Carmel Springs. If we did pull this off, we might benefit from more than the price Honey was willing to meet.

  Bee nodded at me.

  “All right,” I said. “We’ll do it.”

  “Oh, wonderful!” Honey squealed and clapped her hands. “Wonderful.”

  “What’s going on?” William, her fiancé, had appeared at the foot of the stairs. The other two guests stood behind him. His brother, Richard, who was his twin and looked almost exactly like William, from the dark hair to the eyes and strong, sharp nose, scowled at Honey.

  Jessie, her maid of honor, who might have been a carbon copy of Honey except for the fact that she wore her hair short and brown, rushed to the bride’s side. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve been crying.”

  “Did I ruin my makeup?” Honey wailed and dove for the compact in her purse.

  I returned to my seat next to Bee.

  “Looks like it’s going to be an interesting day,” Bee whispered.

  “At least we’ll get paid,” I replied, but a knot of tension tightened in my belly. Who knew what this week would bring?

  3

  After the breakfast—fruit parfait and Eggs Benedict for me—Bee and I retired to our bedrooms to discuss what had happened. We’d been planning on attending the local museum and finding out more about the history in Carmel Springs, but the prospect of a new job took precedence.

  “What do you think?” I asked, shutting my bedroom door. “Did I make the right decision?”

  “Don’t be so unsure of yourself, Ruby,” Bee said, in a tone that was half-cold and half-motherly. “Really, you’re almost forty years old. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much as you do.”

  “You’re right.” And she was, but I couldn’t help it. I’d spent years in a relationship with a man who had broken me right down to my insecurities. The only time I’d felt confident was when I’d been interviewing people for articles or writing stories for the paper. Apparently, decisions related to my business fell under the “insecurity” tag.

  I’d have to get over it.

  “Interesting, though,” Bee said, walking to the coffee station in the corner of the room. She made a mean pot of Joe.

  I sat down and kicked off my shoes, tucking my feet underneath me in the armchair. “What is? The wedding?”

  “Everything about it. Honey and her fiancé included.” Bee doled out coffee grounds into the receptacle. “Don’t you find it strange that she didn’t cry to him instead of coming downstairs and weeping by herself at the breakfast table?”

  “Hmm.”

  “She could even have spoken to that friend of hers, Jessie, but she didn’t. Why do you think that was?”

  “Perhaps an attention-seeking move?” I asked. “Maybe she wanted everyone to feel sorry for her.”

  “Valid point. It’s still odd, though. A woman like that surely gets more than enough attention.” Bee gestured with a spoon. “Look at her, for heaven’s sake. She looks as if she’s stepped off the cover of a magazine.”

  I paused, biting on the inside of my cheek. I had learned to gossip at the paper—it was necessary to ask awkward questions and have whispered conversations to find the truth—but I’d tried to rid myself of the habit once I’d quit and bought the food truck.

  So much for that idea. “Do you remember the day they first arrived in Carmel Springs?”

  “Vividly,” Bee said. “Honey threw a fit over having to get married in William’s hometown. He carried the bags into the guesthouse after her like a puppy dog.”

  “Harsh.”

  “And then they had a rip-roaring argument later that night. I could barely sleep,” Bee said, as she clicked on the machine, allowing the grounds to steep and the life-giving liquid to burble out into the glass pot below.

  “Well, let’s hope they’ve resolved their issues. They seemed fine at breakfast. You saw how they were whispering and cuddling over their shared omelet.”

  “Most off-putting,” Bee said.

  “This wedding might be what puts us back on the map in town. I wanted our first venture out on our food truck to be successful. And we can’t leave before that new supply of boxes gets to the post office here.”

  Bee gave me a warm smile. “It will work out, Ruby. Don’t you worry.”

  Footsteps thumped down the hall outside and stopped outside my bedroom door. A curt knock came next.

  Bee and I stiffened then relaxed.

  It was probably just one of the guests. Albeit one who walked like they’d been cursed with giant feet. The murder and the ensuing investigation from the mean detective last week had us on edge. It was silly. Carmel Springs was safe now.

  I answered the door and found Honey tapping her fingernails on the jamb. “There you are,” she said. “We haven’t finished talking about the wedding.” She forced her way into the room without invitation.

  “Come on in,” Bee said.

  Honey ignored her. “So.” She folded her arms. “As I said, I want them to be wedding cupcakes. Like, a whole tiered, layered thing of cupcakes. Get it?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Why aren’t you taking notes?” Honey demanded. “I don’t work with amateurs. I want notes taken so you don’t get it wrong.”

>   “Surely, an amateur would get it wrong with or without notes.”

  This time, Honey shot Bee a scathing look.

  I brought my phone out and opened up my notepad app. I typed out her first request—or rather, command—then waited for the next.

  “Good. That’s better. The last woman who worked for me was an incompetent fool.” She smacked her lips. “Do you know anything about organizing weddings?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “Just baking.” And even that was crossing a line. Bee was the baker. I was the truck driver and business owner. But in the past two weeks, I’d picked up a few tricks from my partner. I could whip up a mean banana bread miniature.

  “Oh.” Her lips turned down at the corners. “Well, fine. Now, I want to taste your stuff first before I hire you. I’ve already got the event prepared. We’re holding the wedding at the town hall.” If anything, her expression grew more disdainful. “And you can use their kitchen to prepare the cupcakes when I do hire you.”

  “All right,” I noted that down too, for posterity.

  “I’m going to be busy scouting a new organizer for the wedding,” Honey continued, none of her weepiness present anymore. “I want you to prepare a set of sample cupcakes and drop them off at the town hall by tomorrow morning. You can come by in the afternoon, and I’ll tell you my verdict. Do you understand?”

  “Sure,” I said slowly.

  “But the cupcakes will cost you,” Bee put in. “The testers. Ingredients don’t come cheap.”

  Honey glared at Bee.

  My cheeks grew warm. Once again, Bee had stepped in where I might not have. She was always looking out for our best interests.

  “Fine.” Honey waved a hand, right after the awkward silence had passed. “I’ll pay you for the test cupcakes. But they had better be good. They had better be worth my time. Now, I’ll expect that delivery there by nine, as I’ll be at the town hall an hour after. You’re to come back at two. No sooner. No later. Understood?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Good.” She swept from the room and nearly tripped over Trouble in the hall. “Stupid cat!”

  Trouble darted toward us, and I lifted him into my arms, stroking his soft calico fur. Before I could say anything about her insult, Honey had marched off, her stilettos heavy on the wooden boards.

  “She’s delightful,” Bee said.

  “A real treat,” I agreed.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Trouble purred and rubbed the side of his kitty face against my hand. “Yeah,” I said, “I’m sure. This will give me a chance to make my famous marzipan frosting.”

  “Famous?”

  “OK, not famous. But it’s the frosting that inspired my love for baking. It was my grandmother’s special recipe, and it’s probably the only thing I can make that tastes delicious, rather than just OK.”

  Bee poured us our coffees, and I returned to my comfy, flower-patterned armchair with Trouble. He purred and clawed my hand when I rubbed his belly, clearly in the mood for play, but all I could think about was the wedding, cupcakes, and Honey Wilson’s foul attitude.

  4

  “What a beautiful day,” I said, as we stood on the wooden overlook near the beach. The waves weren’t as choppy today, and the view of the ocean was what had kept me in Carmel Springs. Well, that and the seafood.

  My belly rumbled at the thought.

  “Hungry?” Bee asked, beside me.

  “You can say that again. Do you think we have time to grab lunch before we head over to the town hall?” I checked my watch. “Ugh, no we don’t. It’s already a quarter to, and she wants us there at two on the dot.”

  “Bit of a megalomaniac if you ask me,” Bee said. “What with the hair and the heels and the commands. She would fit in well in the army.”

  “Even with the hair and the heels?”

  “All right, a fashionable army. She could have one of her own shows like Joan Rivers did. Remember her?”

  “I never watched those shows,” I said. “But I’m sure you’re right. Honey is very stylish.”

  “At least, she’s got that going for her.”

  “Bee.”

  “It’s difficult for me to be polite when other people aren’t,” Bee said.

  “Let’s get going.” I’d have to wait until after our meeting with Honey to grab a bite. We’d planned on checking out more of the local restaurants, since the Lobster Shack was closed until further notice due to its chef having been arrested. Murder was never good for business, as I’d come to discover.

  Then again, that was kind of a no-brainer. Is that a horrible pun I just made? Eugh.

  “I would’ve liked to go somewhere for lunch,” Bee said, as we turned off the long beach road and started toward the town’s center, passing quaint stores with people both inside and out. A few of them smiled and nodded or greeted us as we passed.

  It was a nice change from the outright suspicion the week before. “Samantha will probably have a snack for us when we get back. And we shouldn’t have taken the day off just because of the cupcakes.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think it made much of a difference,” Bee said. “I doubt anyone stopped by at our usual spot overlooking the beach. At least not in search of our cakes.”

  “But the wedding will change that,” I said.

  “Yoo-hoo!” The call came from the butcher’s across the street. Both Bee and I watched as Millie, the rotund and friendly editor of the paper hurried across the street toward us, flapping a hand in greeting. “There you are. I went down to the beachfront today, but your truck wasn’t there. Is everything all right?”

  “So someone did miss us,” I said, brightening. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Apart from business being slower than a frozen lobster,” Bee noted.

  “But we did just get an offer to cater a wedding. We’re about to find out if we got the job.”

  Millie pursed her lips. “Don’t tell me. It’s the Wilson-Hall wedding?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I heard Ms. Wilson is a real pain in the places the sun don’t shine,” Millie said. “But then, that’s none of my business, now is it? I have good news though.”

  “You do?” I was in desperate need of some.

  “I’ve gotten one of the food critics at the paper to agree to taste your food and write up a review. How the review pans out will be up to you ladies, of course.”

  “Wow, that’s fantastic!”

  “Thanks,” Bee said and gave the woman one of her warmer smiles. “That’s really appreciated. We could use all the help we can get now.”

  Just the fact that we were in conversation with Millie seemed to change a few attitudes. As we went our separate ways, a few of the locals waved or stopped to chat with us. Millie’s acceptance went a long way. Perhaps we had made a powerful ally.

  We reached the town hall at five minutes past two. I despised tardiness, and the fact that we were late for a meeting with the bridezilla gave me waves of tummy nerves.

  We entered the building and found the main hall empty. Chairs were still set up facing a front stage and a podium, and the place smelled of salt and wood polish, like the years of use in a coastal town had sunk into the furniture itself. I had trouble picturing how it would look all done up, and I’d had thought the same when we’d delivered the cupcakes this morning.

  “Where is she?” Bee asked, checking her watch. “I might be the kettle here, but she’s late.”

  “I wouldn’t say that too loudly if I were you. I doubt Honey would take kindly to being called a pot.”

  “You really think she’d put the saying together?” Bee asked.

  I pinched her on the elbow for her meanness, and she swatted me on the arm, grinning.

  “But seriously,” she said. “Where is she?”

  “Maybe in the kitchen? That’s where we had to drop off the cupcakes.” I trooped across the hall and toward the shut kitchen door. The place didn’t exactly have catering
facilities, but the kitchen was big enough to prepare a few cakes, though we’d need to bring our own equipment on the day.

  I opened the door and stepped inside. It took a moment to register the scene in front of me, but when it clicked—

  I let out a squeal and stumbled back, Bee catching me as I stepped on her toes. “Ouch! What? What is it?”

  A body lay on the floor in the middle of kitchen. A woman, with stiletto heels on, and … oh, no.

  “It’s her. It’s Honey,” Bee whispered. “What’s that on her face?”

  A white cloth appeared to be stuck to her face. I approached, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. She definitely wasn’t breathing, and the “cloth” was none other than marzipan. My marzipan. From my marzipan cupcakes.

  “Bee,” I said. “I think it’s time we call 911.”

  5

  “Asphyxiation.” Detective Jones grabbed one of the chairs in the town hall. He spun it around on the spot then straddled it, his meaty, hairy arms balanced on its top rung.

  “That’s terrible,” I whispered. Already, the beginnings of nausea roiled in my belly. I’d never been good with anything regarding corpses or blood or murder. But then, who was?

  Bee, apparently. My friend had taken charge the minute “call 911” had left my mouth. She’d effectively cordoned off the area, using a roll of kitchen towel, and had taken several snaps of the body on her phone, as well as of the cupcakes and all possible exits and entrances to the kitchen.

  I had a hunch my friend wanted to take matters into her own hands. I was too nauseated to be curious just yet.

  “Terrible,” the detective said, bringing my focus back to his scowl. “Terrible that you were here in the first place.”

  Not this again. “Look, I’ve just witnessed a … well, not a murder, but I’ve just walked in on another dead body. I’m not in the mood to mince words, detective. Why don’t you tell me what you need from me?”