The Cupcake Capers Box Set

by Polly Holmes

  Margarete clenched her hands into fists at her sides, pure anger festering deep in her belly. Logan… EpiPen. With her mind focused back on her reason for being there, she headed toward the office out back.

  She’d only taken a few steps when she froze as if her entire body were submerged in a layer of thick, gooey mud. She cursed herself. The light flickered in the kitchen and the hollow sound of heels clacking on the tiled floor reverberated off the Jarrah-panelled wall. Her eyes widened as a female figure came around the corner. Margarete’s gaze fell to the chef’s knife clenched in Mary-Jane’s right hand. She froze and her eyes locked onto Mary-Jane’s sinister expression sending a shiver of fear through her body.

  A triumphant gurgle of laughter blurted from Mary-Jane. “Well, well, what do we have here? You really are hard of hearing, aren’t you? Where in my instructions did I say call in to the café on the way to Johns Cape?”

  Margarete’s heart raced and her gazed stayed glued to the chef’s knife. It was just like the one that killed Pierre. How am I going to get out of this one?

  “So, what are you doing here?” Mary-Jane asked swinging her arm as she moved out of the door of the kitchen and into the main area. The rays of the kitchen light reflecting off the knife casted a rainbow on the far wall.

  Margarete willed herself to stay calm. Two lives depended on it, hers and Logan’s. “I…um called in to get the EpiPen from the first aid kit.”

  “Forever thinking of others. Aren’t you sweet, Margarete?” Mary-Jane’s threatening laugh echoed through the subdued café. “Just like me. I was thinking of Logan and how much he’s going to enjoy that huge piece of chocolate cake covered in nuts.”

  A lightbulb snapped on in her mind and she slowly eased her hand behind her back and retrieved her phone, careful to keep it out of Mary-Jane’s sightline. As she punched in the redial button, she noticed the timbre of Mary-Jane’s voice drop to a disturbing level. She prayed Kayne answered.

  “Where is Logan?” Margarete’s heart plummeted. “You do realise that if he takes a bit of any of these cakes he’ll die.”

  “Well, duh. That’s the idea.”

  “Where …is…. Logan?” Margarete enunciated each word with precision.

  “Somewhere where you won’t find him.” She sighed. “You would have made someone a prim and proper wife someday.”

  Margarete frowned, keeping a careful eye on the knife. “Would have?”

  “Your timing couldn’t have been worse. I only came here to do a little untidying and pick up some dessert, but then you had to walk in, and my plans changed.” Mary-Jane gradually brought the knife up, running a fingertip along the blunt edge before coming to rest on the pointy tip. “You really don’t expect to leave here in one piece, do you?”

  Margarete gasped as she twisted the tip of the blade with her finger. “Why, Mary-Jane? Why kill Pierre? What did he ever do to you?” She prayed her call went through and the police were listening. They’re my only hope.

  Mary-Jane snorted. “Plenty, but what I’d really like to know is how you worked out it was me.”

  This is good, keep her talking. It will buy time.

  Her body was on high alert, but it was only a matter of time before Mary-Jane snapped and Margarete’s world came to a crashing halt. “Like I said on the phone, it was the reporter. Morgan Archer being a male not female. Blows your alibi right out of the water. Once Kayne mentioned it could have been a woman in disguise heading toward the kitchen on the video footage, it opened up a whole new list of suspects.”

  Mary-Jane slashed the knife through the air and Margarete jumped back in fright. “Oh, that man makes me so furious. I had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. Morgan is a female name. Who in their right mind would name their daughter Morgan? Why couldn’t he have been female? It’s all your fault.” Mary-Jane lunged for her and Margarete jumped out of the way, the pain in her ankle no longer registering.

  “Wait,” she said, holding her hands up in defence. “You haven’t told me why you killed Pierre. It’s the least you can do.”

  Mary-Jane rolled her eyes to the roof and pursed her lips. “Because he was blackmailing me.”

  “Blackmailing you?” That was the last thing she ever expected to hear.

  “Yes, blackmail.” Mary-Jane paced the floor, her emotions building with each step. She slid the knife underneath a succulent cherry bomb cake sitting on the end of the counter and flipped it onto the floor. “Oops, sorry. My bad. It all started when Noel lost his job. I have a reputation to uphold in this town and how would it look if I started shopping at St. Vinnies? Don’t get me wrong they’re great…for other people, just not me. I had to get some money from somewhere, didn’t I? I’d made a nice little business on the side selling prescription drugs. Terry is too stupid to realise I’ve been stealing them from work. That creep, Pierre, caught me in the act one day and decided he wanted in or he’d turn me over to the police.”

  The words coming out of Mary-Jane’s mouth didn’t seem to match the image of the woman Margarete had come to know. “So, what happened, why kill him?”

  Mary-Jane turned and glared daggers at Margarete. If her eyes were lasers Margarete would have disintegrated on the spot. “Because he wanted more money. I met him before the party last week at the country club and he wanted, no, demanded more money. Money I wasn’t prepared to pay. Then I overheard your argument with him, and you were the perfect patsy to take the rap for his murder. It wasn’t hard to swipe your knife and the rest is history.”

  “And Nathan Bates?”

  Mary-Jane’s ice-blue eyes drilled into her and she knew time was running out. “That little dweeb thought he could take my money,” she said swiping the stainless-steel muffin stand clean off the counter smashing onto the floor a clear four meters away. “My money. Pierre had stashed it somewhere. When I saw Nathan with Clair at CC’s Simply Cupcakes, I noticed she’d given him a key. I knew what I had to do. He was a nobody, no-one is going to miss him.”

  Nobody is going to miss him? How can she say that?

  “Time for talking is over. Time to tie up loose ends,” Mary-Jane said raising the knife above her head. She lunged toward her, kicking broken chairs, tables anything that stood in the path between them to the side.

  An iron fist squeezed Margarete’s chest and she could barely breathe. The growing heat in her body felt as if she were suffocating. The knife slashed toward her in a ferocious manner and she froze on the spot, her feet ignoring the message to run.

  In the distance, the faint sound of sirens registered. Margarete’s heart sank as her legs scrambled sidewards, tripping over an upturned chair landing with a thud on her rear. “Don’t do this, Mary-Jane.” A rich bellowing laugh filled the café and Margarete turned, her heart racing at the pure vehemence bleeding from every inch of her enemy. She skated backwards on her backside across the room, pitching whatever she could grab at Mary-Jane.

  “You think throwing a few pieces of broken chair is going to stop me?”

  She was right. In the kerfuffle, it appeared Mary-Jane either ignored the approaching sirens or hadn’t heard them. Determination pumped through Margarete and her hand reached out and gripped a sharp-edged wooden table number by the upturned muffin tray. She pitched it at Mary-Jane’s hand holding the knife, colliding magnificently with her target.

  “Ahh,” she said, the knife crashing to the ground. The blade sang a sweet chime as it bounced across the tiles. Mary-Jane gripped her hand, crimson blood oozing through her fingers. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  Panic clutched at Margarete’s chest and her breaths were coming in ragged gasps from the exertion. She grabbed the muffin tray and shot it across the café like a frisbee at Mary-Jane’s legs. The other woman toppled, her body descending in slow motion. The movement was straight out of an action movie.

  Starved for air, Margarete scampered on all fours to the opposite side of the café and out of reach of her attacker. She hid behind a fallen table, waitin
g for the distinct sound of death to approach. The sudden silence was heightened by the high-pitched whistle of the wind barking in the trees outside the front door.

  Is she waiting, ready to pounce as soon as I show my face?

  Fear rendered her paralysed, but it was the not knowing that terrified her the most. Margarete held her breath and squeezed the top of the table to stop her hands from shaking. Peering over the top, her gaze landed one the motionless body of Mary-Jane out cold, flat on the floor. She’d knocked herself out when she’d fallen. The wail of sirens and screech of tyres piercing the night air sent a cascade of relief through her system. She sighed, turned and slumped on the floor, propping herself up against the table.

  “Who knew cake bases made the best frisbees?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Charlotte’s voice belted his eardrums as he bolted toward the entrance of the Tea 4 Two Café. “Logan… No… Stop.” Her voice alerted Kayne to his presence and he turned, blocking him half-way across the street.

  “No, Logan, you can’t go in. The scene hasn’t been secured yet,” Kayne said, his voice authoritative and commanding. “Let us do what we do best. Trust me, I know exactly how you feel, and I promise that as soon as we can, we’ll let you in. We will.”

  Logan tensed and every muscle in his body wanted to ignore Kayne’s instructions, but his brain knew he was right. He nodded, unable to drag the words from his throat.

  “Good, wait here behind my police car with Charlotte and Liam and we’ll let you know as soon as it’s safe,” Kayne said, retrieving his pistol from its holster.

  “Everything will be okay, Logan, I just know it,” Charlotte said, her eyes focused on Kayne and Robert as they descended on the Tea 4 Two Café firearms held high. Clint watching their sixes.

  His breath rasped into his lungs and the evening chill slapped him in the face. The frigid wind brushed past his bare arms, causing the hairs to stand on end. He couldn’t believe his stupidity. Who goes for a four-hour round trip, plus visiting time, and leaves their phone at home?

  Me, that’s who.

  Before they’d arrived this past weekend, he’d promised Elaine he’d take her to see her childhood friend in Old Bar, north of Ashton Point. Margarete had understood, after all, she was going to stay home and rest for the day. It wasn’t until he’d gone to fill his petrol up that he’d realised he’d left his phone back at the hotel to charge. If he hadn’t run into Kayne as he’d left the police station, he may never have known what kind of trouble Margarete was in and it may have been too late by then.

  “I can’t wait any longer,” Logan said, preparing to storm the café.

  Charlotte stepped in front of him, arms folded across her chest. Her stern gaze drilled into him. “You can and you will. I’m worried about her too, but Kayne and Robert know what they’re doing.”

  “And if I hadn’t left my phone at home, I would have gotten her distressed messages. I could have stopped her from doing something silly, like confront a murderer alone,” he snapped.

  She half-smiled. “We’ve all been there.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Liam said easing his arm around her waist and pulling her tight into his protective embrace.

  Logan watched the love between them, and the realisation hit him in the chest knocking the air from his lungs. Margarete had worked her way into his heart and now the thought of losing her made him stir crazy.

  “Logan, I’m pretty confident when I say you’ll get a chance to tell her how you feel.”

  “How can you be so sure?’ Logan asked.

  “Because look,” she said, pointing to Kayne, who was waving his arms by the café entrance. A paramedic rushed past them, heading for the door. Logan felt a jolt of adrenaline rush through his veins. All three bolted across the street, Logan’s body tensing with each step.

  “She’s fine,” Kayne said with a smile. “They’re checking her over now. A few bumps and scratches but on the whole, one touch cookie. Which is more than I can say for Mary-Jane Gregory. Margarete used her expert throwing skills and took Mary-Jane’s legs out from underneath her, consequently knocking her out cold on the way down.”

  That’s my girl. “Can I see her?” Logan asked, desperate to see for himself that she was in one piece.

  Kayne nodded. “Of course.”

  He blinked twice as he took in the destruction that lined the floor of the café. It looked like the result of one angry bar fight. Broken chairs and tables were everywhere, smashed desserts were strewn all over the floor. His gaze landing on Margarete, who was propped up against a table in the corner.

  “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” he asked moving to her side. “You had me scared half to death.”

  The paramedic closed his case and stood up. “I’ll leave you to it. I really do think you should head to the hospital for X-rays, just to be on the safe side.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, Gary, but I’ll be okay.”

  “She’ll be there, Gary. Looking after her is my number one priority from now on. Even if I have to drag her there myself,” Logan said, threading a piece of hair behind her ears.

  Gary chuckled and moved off, dodging the debris. “He sounds like a keeper.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” she muttered.

  Logan stared at Margarete, wondering why his stomach was twisted in knots waiting for her to elaborate. “Margarete,” he said, but she silenced him with a finger.

  “This past few hours have been the scariest of my life but you know what I realised when I was facing the prospect of an early demise?”

  He shook his head, barely breathing.

  “How important you’ve become to me. I was about to risk everything to save you from a crazed murderer who told me she’d kidnapped you and would feed you nuts. All I could think about was your safety. You make me feel alive when I’m with you and I don’t want to lose that.”

  Logan stood still for a few moments, his heart pounding against his ribs. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? “You read my mind.”

  She threw her arms around him and squeezed. His heart finally found a new home. “So, how do you feel about long-distance relationships? Just until I can wrap things up back home.”

  She pulled back and her gaze scanned the café. Her life was in tatters. “Are you serious? Actually, I think I’m going to need a break to fully recover. What better way, than a few weeks away with someone to tend to my every need?”

  Logan put his thumb under her chin and gently turned her face toward him. “I think that can be arranged. I’m sure you have a youth centre here. If not, I’ll make one. And if my memory serves me correctly, you owe me one cooking lesson.”

  She grinned and before he knew it, her eyelids were half closed and her lips were brushing ever so softly against his. Sweet and tenderly at first and then harder, as if she were staking her claim over him.

  “I think I’m going to like it in Ashton Point,” Logan said, leaning his forehead against hers.

  Margarete threaded her arms around his neck. “I hope so. I promise there will never be a dull moment.”

  He chuckled. “Just so long as you promise to stick to cooking instead of sleuthing.”

  “I think that can be arranged.”

  The End

  Thank you for reading The Cupcake Capers Series

  If you enjoyed these stories, I would really appreciate it if you would consider leaving a review of this book, no matter how short, at the retailer site where you bought your copy or on sites like Goodreads.

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  About the Author

  Polly Holmes is the cheeky, sassy alter ego of P.L. Harris. When she's not writing her next romantic suspense novel as P.L. Harris, she is planning the next murder in one of Polly's cozy mysteries.

  According to Polly, the best part about writing a cozy mystery is researching. Finding the best way to hook the reader, a great way to murder someone, a plethora of suspects and of course a good dose of sweet treats thrown in for good measure.

  Polly lives not far from the beach in the northern suburbs of Perth, Western Australia with her Bishion Frise, Bella. When she's not writing you can find her sipping coffee in her favourite cafe, watching reruns of Murder, She Wrote or Psych, or taking long walks along the beach soaking up the fresh salty air.

  You can visit Polly Holmes at her website: www.pollyholmesmysteries.com