The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set Page 18

  He swaggered toward me. “I had a feeling you two would cause me trouble. But I let it go because I figured, what harm could two women do? You’re so busy baking your stupid treats you shouldn’t have figured it out at all. And those cupcakes? They weren’t even that good.”

  I opened my mouth to lambast him for the lie, almost offended more by the slight on Bee’s cupcakes than I was by him murdering his fiancée and pinning it on his brother.

  A terrific cry rose from the base of the stairs in the hallway that led past the first floor rooms. Gina, the wedding planner, appeared out of nowhere. She let out another feral cry and launched herself across the room at William, a ball of fury and red hair.

  He barely had time to turn. They crashed into the wall, fighting, her scratching and him trying to hold her off.

  “What on earth?”

  Sam screamed and ran out of the room. Bee appeared in the archway staring, wide-eyed. “What’s going on?”

  “It was William,” I called. “He’s the murderer. Are the police—?”

  A siren whooped outside and two police cruisers skidded to a halt outside the guesthouse. It was over. Well, kind of. We’d still have to peel Gina off William for whatever reason.

  23

  “Read all about it,” Millie cried cheerily and slapped down the newspaper on the food truck’s counter. “All the most important Carmel Springs news delivered directly to your eyes.”

  The ocean breeze ruffled the front page, and I grinned at Millie, lifting the paper up. “Thanks, Millie.”

  “Your review is in the food and recipe section,” Millie said. “I think you’ll like it, but then, you can probably tell it was positive, right?”

  An entire row of customers stretched out behind her, waiting for their turn to order a coffee or a cupcake or another treat. Bee had baked up a storm all morning. It was only eleven, and we’d already sold out of our cupcakes once.

  It was more than I could have asked for, especially after the past three weeks we’d had in town.

  “Thanks for this, Millie. It’s great. I don’t think the truck would have recovered without your help.” It was like the universe had presented the bad, in William the murderer, and the good, in Millie who had selflessly helped us out with the truck and its consumer base problem. And the ugly? Well, Bee would have said that was Detective Jones, who’d successfully made the arrest.

  “We did an article on the murder,” Millie said. “My writer praised you and Bee for bringing the evidence to the police.”

  “Sure that went down well with Jones,” Bee commented, as she served a customer and accepted their change.

  “Oh, I saw him this morning. Let’s just say he won’t be buying another paper for a while.” Millie grinned.

  “You’re an angel,” Bee said. “A mudslide mini on the house for you.”

  “Can you believe the story with Gina Josephs?”

  “Crazy,” I said. “Absolutely crazy. Who would’ve thought that the wedding planner and the kleptomaniac were dating?” Apparently, Gina had been snooping around the guesthouse not because she went running with Jessie, but because she’d been involved with Richard.

  Richard who had been a total klepto, had no job, and who had actually stolen the ring and the truck keys from William’s room after the murder. Apparently, he’d given Gina the ring. And Gina had dropped it outside the window when she’d been trying to spy on him from afar.

  The Halloween mask? Well, that was a mystery to me.

  Gina had been a bit of a head case but protective over Richard, hence her strange attack on William. Strange or not, it had saved my bacon. I could only be grateful for the subterfuge on her part. And now, William had been locked away for good, Richard had been arrested for minor theft, and Gina? Well, she’d gone back to LA but would probably be back to fetch Richard once he got out.

  They were a match made in heaven.

  “Just another week in Carmel Springs,” Millie said and accepted her candy-striped box.

  The next customer in line stepped forward and was served, and the rhythm continued, people wandering off with their boxes, some not able to stop themselves from eating before they’d made it two steps.

  That was exactly how I’d always wanted it to be. The food truck overflowing with business, people enjoying the food, and us meeting interesting characters along the way. Although we’d had enough “interesting” to last us a lifetime.

  After a long day on the truck, we arrived back at the guesthouse to find Sam outside, putting up Halloween decorations. Trouble danced around her feet, batting at a plastic skeleton leg, meowing and purring in between.

  “Need any help?” I called. “I love Halloween.”

  “Oh, hello, ladies. I can use all the help I can get. I’ve got five new guests checking in for Halloween next week.”

  Bee and I hurried over to help her, and as we hung up spooky streamers and put out paper lanterns decorated in ghosts and bats and dancing skeletons, I couldn’t help but feel that in a way, I’d found a place to call home. Even if it was temporary.

  Catch more of Ruby and Bee’s adventures in Creepy Cake Murder. Simply turn the page!

  Book 3: Creepy Cake Murder

  1

  “Put the killer cookie in the bag and hand over the cash,” I said, nudging Bee in the ribs. Or I tried to. Bee wore a fluffy yellow-and-black-striped bee costume that bulged outward—too much puff for me to reach her side. Her arms poked out of the side-holes of the costume, short and stubby thanks to the extra padding.

  I’d nearly died of laughter this morning when she’d come down for breakfast.

  “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. “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 set up 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, toothaches, and tricks, 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 sand 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 to the surrounding area. We’d gathered two long lines of customers itching to get their hands on our food, and that attention hadn’t waned throughout the morning and well into the afternoon.

  The next customer in line stepped up, and Millie, the editor of the local newspaper, grinned at us. She’d come dressed as a witch with a tall black hat and a fake wart glued to 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 five this morning.”

  “You have to stay until midnight?” I asked, adjusting my deerstalker hat. “In this weather?” It was far too chilly to stay out after eight, or maybe that was just me. I’d never been go
od 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.”

  “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, and then hurried off to enjoy her treat.

  Two new customers stepped up to the fronts of the lines. One wore a full clown outfit with ruffles around the throat and white makeup that obscured their face entirely, and the other had opted for vampire garb. Fake blood dripped from the corners of the vampire lady’s lips, and she wore a 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 a 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 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 shifting 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 town.

  “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, and we could do nothing but stare after her, shaking our heads.

  “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, 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 an embarrassing one. I had it on good authority that Detective Martin, the only handsome police officer in 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 set the scene too. She had jack-o’-lanterns 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 striped fluffy bee butt. “If you don’t win the Halloween competition for the 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 revamped the guesthouse. I hope this is the year.”

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

  Since we’d arrived in town, 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 the drama and enjoy an evening together, as well as the rest of our time in the small town. It was only a few weeks before we’d be moving on to 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. Stalls of every kind were manned by folks the Events Committee had hand-selected.

  Music thumped from speakers, and children and adults in Halloween costumes roamed around, many of them messing up their makeup as they chomped down on treats or candies. The rich scents of food drifted on the air—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, spooky writing on a sign declaring that it would be the scariest experience Maine had ever offered. 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. The chills had passed a while ago, but my kneejerk reaction to screams was envisioning someone in trouble. And police lights. Eek.

  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 with 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 a bat-and-glitter-strewn counter, 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 an elderly woman on the cheek. She cooed and patted him on the top of his head, the metal helmet clanging loudly.

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

  We reached the front of the line and found Millie in charge, 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?”

  “Most of them,” Millie said. “I’m sort of dabbling. It’s great research for articles, and I’ve got to check that my writers are getting all the details. Last year, we reported that the Taco Stall had served guacamole, and Mrs. Black forced us to do a retraction. Apparently, there hadn’t been any guacamole. It was green cream cheese.”