Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 7 - 9

by Stacey Alabaster

  She was quiet for a moment. “Well, to be honest with you, I did doze off for a moment.” She looked at me, pride spreading across her face. “I sleep with my eyes open. Do you know anyone who can do that?”

  Before I could answer, she was telling me about her friend Delores who “claimed” she could sleep with her eyes open but, as it turned out, just slept with one eye half-open because she had a stroke and it wouldn’t close all the way.

  I sat there in silence before saying a quick prayer. My hands resumed their spot around the seat cushion and I could feel the blood draining from my knuckles yet again.

  “So what was it you tried to talk to me about before you nearly killed us?”

  I swallowed hard, trying to push away the irritation that fought to come out.

  “I asked you what your name was.” I stared at her and decided right then that I wouldn’t take my eyes off of her for the rest of the trip. I would make sure she stayed awake, even if it meant talking to her the entire time.

  “Oh yes! My name is Hattie Sue Miller,” she said with a bit of arrogance. She glanced at me. “My father used to own most of this land.” She motioned to either side of us. “Until he sold it and made a fortune.” She gave me a look and dropped her voice to a whisper as she raised one eyebrow. “Of course we don’t talk about money. That would be inappropriate.” She said that last part like I had just asked her when she had last had sex. I felt ashamed until I realized I had never asked her about her money; I had simply asked her name. This woman was a nut. Didn’t Grandma Dean have any other friends she could’ve sent to get me?

  For the next hour or so, I asked her all kinds of questions to keep her awake—none of them about money or anything I thought might lead to money. If what she told me was true, she had a very interesting upbringing. She claimed to be related to Julia Tuttle, the woman who founded Miami. Her stories of how she got a railroad company to agree to build tracks there were fascinating. It wasn’t until she told me she was also related to Michael Jackson that I started to question how true her stories were.

  “We’re almost there! Geraldine will be so happy to see you. You’re all she’s talked about the last two weeks.” She pulled into a street lined with palm trees. “You’re going to love it here.” She smiled as she drove. “I’ve lived here a long time. It’s far enough away from the city that you don’t have all that hullaballoo, but big enough that you can eat at a different restaurant every day for a month.”

  When we entered the downtown area, heavy gray smoke hung in the air, and the road was blocked by a fire truck and two police cars.

  “Oh no! I think there might have been a fire!” I leaned forward in my seat, trying to get a better look.

  “Of course there was a fire!” Hattie huffed like I was an idiot. “That’s why Geraldine sent me to get you!”

  “What?! Is she okay?” I scanned the crowd and saw her immediately. She was easy to spot, even at our distance.

  “Oh yes. She’s fine. Her shop went up in flames as she was headed out the door. She got the call from a neighboring store owner and called me right away to go get you. Honestly, I barely had time to make you a sign.” She acted like Grandma Dean had really put her in a bad position, leaving her only minutes to get my name on a piece of poster board.

  Hattie pulled over and I jumped out; I’d come back for my luggage later. As I made my way toward the crowd, I was amazed at how little my Grandma Dean—or Grandma Dean-Dean, as I had called her since I was a little girl—had changed. Her bleach blonde hair was nearly white and cut in a cute bob that was level with her chin. She wore skintight light blue denim capris, which hugged her tiny frame. Her bright white t-shirt was the background for a long colorful necklace that appeared to be a string of beads. Thanks to a pair of bright red heels, she stood eye to eye with the fireman she was talking to.

  I ran up to her and called out to her. “Grandma! Are you okay?” She flashed me a look of disgust before she smiled weakly at the fireman and said something I couldn’t make out.

  She turned her back to him and grabbed me by the arm. “I told you to never call me that!” She softened her tone then looked me over. “You look exhausted! Was it the flight or riding with that crazy Hattie?” She didn’t give me time to answer. “Joe, this is my daughter’s daughter, Nikki.”

  Joe smiled. I wasn’t sure if it was his perfectly white teeth that got my attention, his uniform or his sparkling blue eyes, but I was immediately speechless. I tried to say hello, but the words stuck in my throat.

  “Nikki, this is Joe Dellucci. He was born in New Jersey but his parents came from Italy. Isn’t that right, Joe?”

  I was disappointed when Joe answered without a New Jersey accent. Grandma Dean continued to tell me about Joe’s heritage, which reminded me of Hattie. Apparently once you got to a certain age, you automatically became interested in people’s backgrounds.

  He must have noticed the look of disappointment on my face. “My family moved here when I was ten. My accent only slips in when I’m tired.” His face lit up with a smile, causing mine to do the same. “Or when I eat pizza.” I had no idea what he meant by that, but it caused me to break out in nervous laughter. Grandma Dean’s look of embarrassment finally snapped me out of it.

  “Well, Miss Dean. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, call your insurance company. I’m sure they’ll get you in touch with a good fire restoration service. If not, let me know. My brother’s in the business.”

  He handed her a business card and I saw the name in red letters across the front: Clean-up Guys. Not a very catchy name. Then suddenly it hit me. A fireman with a brother who does fire restoration? Seemed a little fishy. Joe must have noticed my expression, because he chimed in. “Our house burned down when I was eight and Alex was twelve. I guess it had an impact on us.”

  Grandma Dean took the card and put it in her back pocket. “Thanks, Joe. I’ll give Alex a call this afternoon.”

  They said their good-byes and as Joe walked away, Grandma Dean turned toward me. “What did I tell you about calling me ‘Grandma’ in public?” Her voice was barely over a whisper. “I’ve given you a list of names that are appropriate and I don’t understand why you don’t use one of them!”

  “I’m not calling you Coco!” My mind tried to think of the other names on the list. Peaches? Was that on there? Whatever it was, they all sounded ridiculous.

  “There is nothing wrong with Coco!” She pulled away from me and ran a hand through her hair as a woman approached us.

  “Geraldine, I’m so sorry to hear about the fire!” The woman hugged Grandma Dean. “Do they know what started it?”

  “No, but Joe’s on it. He’ll figure it out. I’m sure it was wiring or something. You know how these old buildings are.”

  The woman nodded in agreement. “If you need anything, please let me know.” She hugged Grandma again and gave her a look of pity.

  “Bev, this is my…daughter’s daughter, Nikki.”

  I rolled my eyes. She couldn’t even say granddaughter. I wondered if she would come up with some crazy name to replace that too.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Bev said without actually looking at me. She looked worried. Her drawn-on eyebrows were pinched together, creating a little bulge between them. “If you hear anything about what started it, please be sure to let me know.”

  Grandma turned to me as the woman walked away. “She owns the only other antique store on this block. I’m sure she’s happy as a clam that her competition is out for a while,” Grandma said, almost with a laugh.

  I gasped. “Do you think she did it? Do you think she set fire to your shop?”

  “Oh, honey, don’t go jumping to conclusions like that. She would never hurt a fly.” Grandma looked around. “Where’s your luggage?”

  I turned to point toward Hattie’s car, but it was gone.

  Grandma let out a loud laugh. “Hattie took off with your luggage? Well, then let’s go get it.”

&n
bsp; Thanks for reading a sample of Up in Smoke. You can read the rest at:

  amazon.com/dp/B06XHKYRRX

  amazon.com/dp/B06XHKYRRX

  Preview: Murder in the Mountains

  Screams were not a normal part of the workday at Aspen Breeze. When Jennifer heard the anguished cry of the maid, she ran around the desk and sprinted out the door. Clint, not through with his breakfast, followed at her heels. The door to the room had been left open. The maid stood on the thick burgundy carpet in front of the unmade bed and pointed at the hot tub.

  Water remained in the tub, but it wasn’t swirling. The occupant, a red-haired, slightly chubby man whose name Jennifer had forgotten, was face down. His blue running shorts had changed to a darker blue due to dampness. Reddish colorations marred his throat. Another dark spot of blood mixed with hair around his right temple. Pale red splotches marred the water.

  For a moment, she felt like the ground had opened and she had fallen into blackness. Legs weakened. Knees buckled. She shook her head and a few incoherent syllables came from her mouth. Clint’s arm grasped her around her waist.

  “Step back. It’s okay,” he said.

  It was a silly thing to say, he later thought. Clearly, it was not okay, but in times of stress people will often say and do stupid things.

  He eased her backward, and then sat her down on the edge of the bed. He walked back and took a second look at the hot tub. He had seen dead bodies when he covered the police beat. It wasn’t a routine occurrence, but he had stood in the rain twice and on an asphalt pavement once as EMTs covered a dead man and lifted him into an ambulance.

  By the time he turned around, Jennifer was back on her feet and the color had returned to her cheeks.

  She patted her maid on the shoulder. “Okay, it’s all right. We have to call the police. You can go, Maria. Go to the office and lay down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She glanced at Clint and saw he had his cell phone out.

  “…at the Aspen Breeze Lodge,” he was saying. “There’s a dead body in Unit Nine. It doesn’t look like it was a natural death.” He nodded then slipped the cell phone in his pocket. “They said the chief was out on a call but should be here within fifteen minutes.”

  “Good.” Jennifer put her hands on her hips. Her gaze stared toward the hot tub. A firm, determined tone came back in her voice.

  “Clint, those marks on his throat. The red on his forehead. This wasn’t an accident, was it?”

  “We can’t really say for sure. He might have tripped and hit….” The words withered in the face of her laser stare. “I doubt it. I…I really can’t say for sure but…I doubt it.”

  They looked at one another for a few seconds. Light yellow flames rose up from the artificial fireplace and the crackling of wood sounded from the flames. Jennifer sighed. She realized there was nothing to do except wait for the police.

  The silence was interrupted by a tall, thin man, unshaven as yet, who rushed in.

  “Bill, what are you doing with the door open? It’s still cold….” He stopped as if hit by a stun gun. Eyes widened. He stumbled but caught himself before he fell to the carpeted floor. “Oh, no! What happened?”

  Jennifer shifted into her professional tone as manager. “We don’t know yet, sir. I assume you knew this man.”

  He nodded weakly. “Yeah, Bill’s been a friend of mine for years.”

  “I remember you from when you checked in yesterday, but I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.”

  “Dale Ramsey.”

  Ramsey had a thin, pale face that flashed even paler. There was a chair close to him and he collapsed in it. He had an aquiline nose and chin but curly brown hair. His hand went to his heart.

  “Sorry you had to learn about your friend’s death this way, Mr. Ramsey,” Jennifer said. “I regret to say I’ve forgotten his name too.”

  “Bill Hamilton.”

  Jennifer turned back to Clint. “Do you think we should move the body? Put it on the rug and cover it with a blanket?”

  Clint shook his head. “I think the police would prefer it stay right where it is, at least for now.”

  Jennifer nodded. A steel gaze came in her eyes. She looked at Ramsey, who almost flinched. Then he shook slightly as if dealing with the aftermath of a panic attack.

  “Mr. Ramsey, I am the owner of this Lodge and obviously I am very upset someone used it as a place for murder. So I trust you won’t mind if I ask you a few questions - just to aid the police, of course.”

  Ramsey swallowed, or tried to. It looked like a rock had lodged in his throat. “Of course not. I…I do will anything I can to help,” he said.

  “Six single individuals checked into my lodge last night. That’s a little unusual. I was commenting on that to Clint just last night. Now it turns out that you knew the deceased. Do you know the other four people who checked in?”

  “Yes…I…yes.”

  There was a pause and Jennifer noted the look of sadness in his eyes.

  “I realize you are upset, Mr. Ramsey, so just relax and take your time.”

  “We are all members of the Centennial Historical Society. All of us are history buffs,” he finally answered.

  “Why did you all check in here?”

  Ramsey shifted in his chair. “This may sound unbelievable.”

  “Let’s try it and see,” Jennifer said.

  “About a hundred and twenty-five years ago there was a Wells Fargo gold shipment in these parts. An outlaw gang headed by a man nicknamed The Falcon stole it. He got the name because he liked heights and the Rocky Mountains and had actually trained a falcon at one time. Rumor is, the gang got about a hundred thousand worth in gold, coins and bars. What’s known is the gang drifted apart and a few members got shot, but the gold was never found. We believe it’s buried very close by, up in the Rocky Mountain National Forest.”

  Jennifer nodded. The entrance to the forest was less than five miles from Aspen Breeze. All drivers had to do was turn left when they left the lodge and they would hit the entrance in about ten minutes.

  “The Rocky Mountain National Forest is a huge area, thousands of miles there of virtually unexplored wilderness. You better have a specific location or you’ll spend your lifetime looking and never find anything,” she said.

  ‘We have researched this gang for years. We think we know approximately where the gold was buried. It’s more than just recovering the gold. This would be a historical find of enormous significance. We were going up there today to try to find the site.”

  “Maybe someone didn’t want to share,” Clint said.

  Ramsey shook his head. “I doubt it. I’ve known these people for years. I don’t think anyone would kill Bill. Besides, whoever it was would have to kill all of us too if he wanted to keep the gold to himself. Bill was in the high tech field, lower management, but he also liked the wilderness. He knew this forest better than any of us. We were counting on him to help find the site of the gold. He had searched the forest a number of times during the past five years.

  I came out with him a few times. He thought he knew where the outlaws had hid their stash. He shared his opinions with us, but he was the one with the most expertise. Eddie, Eddie Tercelli, one of our group, is the second most knowledgeable about the location. He was out a few times too with Bill searching. But it would be tough for him to find the place on his own.”

  A blue light waved and flickered in the room. They heard a car door open and then slam shut. They looked up as the officer walked in. He wore a fine, crisp blue uniform with a bright silver badge. He had a slight paunch over his belt, but it didn’t make him look old or slow. The intense gray eyes under the rim of the black police cap took in everything. His revolver was clearly visible on his right hip.

  “Chief Sandish,” Clint said, nodding.

  Thanks for reading a sample of my first book, Murder in the Mountains. I really hope you liked it. It is available on Amazon at:

  amazon.com/dp/B01DSKLY62
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