Sugared Suspect
Spirited Sweets Book 4
Stephanie Damore
Pink Sapphire Press
Copyright © 2019 by Stephanie Damore
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Cinnamon Cherry Pie Tarts
About the Author
Chapter 1
I looked at my bakery’s front window and tried not to glare at the new business across the streets — Cookie Heaven. The new bakery was owned by Janice Stewart, my ex-friend since high school who recently moved back home and open shop directly across the street from me. Keep in mind, Bleu Clair Bay’s population is smaller than the average high school’s. Our community couldn’t support two bakeries, especially not two right across the street from one another. With its giant chocolate chip cookie with a bite taken out of it on the sign and the bakery’s white and baby blue interior, Cookie Heaven annoyed me and made we want to redecorate The Sweet Tooth all at the same time. Not that my shop needed a facelift. Ellen, who was more like a mom than an employee, had decorated our front window with cheery daffodils and other springtime blooms, but truthfully, it still looked much like January outside. The verge was piled waist high with gray dirty snow. The trees were bare as ever. And the wind continued to whip across Lake Michigan and right on down Cherry Street.
“Chin up, buttercup. You know your cookies taste better than hers,” Nick, my dearly departed husband whispered in my ear. I gave a weak smile. It was nice for Nick to say, but truthfully, he had no idea if they were better or not seeing he couldn’t sample them. Besides, I had heard through the grapevine that Cookie Heaven’s offerings really were divine. I gave an audible sigh which Ellen immediately picked up on and gave me a sincere smile in return. She was fussing over the self-serve coffee station. Her go-to move when business was slow, and she still wanted to be productive. It was either that or clean the grout in the tile floor, but she finished that this morning. Ellen was a worker bee through and through.
The bakery was mostly empty, which was a sad state of affairs given it was a Saturday morning — usually our busiest time of the week. That, and when church got out on Sunday mornings.
“Ladies, you might as well go home,” I said to Ellen and Amelia, my other staff member.
Ellen started to protest. Amelia walked over with a single empty coffee cup to get a refill for one of our two customers who were left sitting at a table. With a big round belly and swollen feet, Amelia was due to have baby number two in a matter of weeks.
“Seriously, there’s no need for all three of us to be working here. Why don’t you two head home? I’m sure you have work you want to do upstairs in the nursery.” Ellen and Amelia lived with me at London Manor. Ellen with her artistic flair was painting a mural on the bedroom room that we were converting into a nursery. Amelia had decided not to find out the gender of the baby, so the nursery was being decorated in a gender-neutral theme with earth tones and adorable baby jungle animals. To even my surprise, the nursery sent a little longing in my heart that I made sure to bury deep down like my former life with Nick. Ellen still insisted on staying, but Amelia agreed to head on home.
The three of us were still talking when our county commissioner dashed through the bakery’s front door and ran and hid behind the display counter. The lot of us — the three of us who had been working and our handful of customers — all looked around bewildered at one another. We quickly wiped the expression off our faces when an out-of-towner walked in the bakery behind him.
The woman was petite. Probably not even five feet tall even with the impressive leather boots she was wearing. Her jeans were tight, but her coat was puffy, and she had on about every winter accessory you could imagine from a stylish wool hat to a matching scarf and mittens.
“Hi, welcome to The Sweet Tooth. What can I get for you?” I asked while moving to go behind the counter. I tried not to stare at Mike who was crouched under the counter and wedged next to the mini fridge. An impressive feat seeing the man was over six feet tall. He held his finger to his lips.
“Hey, hon. Mike didn’t by chance pop in here now, did he?” The southern twang was heavy on the woman’s voice.
“Oh…” I glanced ever so slightly at my feet where the county commissioner was hiding. “Mike?” I asked feigning ignorance.
“You know, Mike Rogers, the commissioner? I swear I saw him duck in here.” The woman’s choice of words were more appropriate than she could’ve ever imagined.
“In here? No, I haven’t seen him. Have you?” I asked Ellen and Amelia. They both responded that they hadn’t.
“Well shoot,” the woman patted the countertop with her mitten. “That man is a slippery son of a gun, isn’t he?”
“So I’ve heard,” I said and then cleared my throat. “Would you like a coffee or something? Have a seat and warm up a bit. Perhaps he’ll pop in.” Mike tugged at my pant leg as if telling me to knock it off.
“Well, I suppose I could sit for a minute. Maybe he’ll walk on by,” the woman replied.
“Oh.” I hadn’t expected the woman to say yes. I was just having a little bit of fun at Mike’s expense. Now I felt bad. “Maybe he will. A coffee then?” I asked quickly composing myself.
“Sure, hon. Just a small one.” The woman unraveled the scarf from her neck, hung it on the rack by the front door, then took off her mittens and hat, and tossed her hair.
The woman reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on who. I didn’t try to figure it out. Instead I said, “Coming right up,” and poured a small cup of black coffee in one of our nice eco-friendly paper cups and put on a to-go lid before handing the drink over. I refused to look down at Mike. Hopefully, he could sneak out the back door that was through the kitchen, or better yet, the mystery woman wouldn’t stay long, and he could walk right on out the front door.
Speaking of which, just then a large chunk of ice and snow slid off the shop’s awning and plopped onto the sidewalk, effectively blocking the entrance.
“I got it,” I said to Ellen who was looking at the heap with more disdain than a pile of snow deserved. It wasn’t Ellen’s fault. This time of year everyone hated the snow. I walked back through to the kitchen where my winter boots were and switched out my apron and tennis shoes for my winter gear.
Outside, I tossed the end of my red, tattered scarf over my shoulder. Like my wool hat, the scarf had been soft and cozy when Ellen gave it to me for Christmas, but our brutal winter took care of that. Big thick snowflakes fell on the sidewalk faster than I could shovel them away. The calendar didn’t care that it was spring. Warm temps were still a couple months away in Bleu Clair Bay.
The metal blade of the shovel scraped along the cement as I tossed the slushy mixture onto the rest of the snow pile. It was hard to believe that there were daffodils under all that packed mess that would sprout up in two-months’ time. I looked up at the sound of another shovel hard at work to see who else was outside when I spotted none other than our village’s resident centurion, Mrs. Smith—most commonly referred to as Granny. Everyone thought the old lady was a bit crazy, which was probably why I had a soft spot for her—half the townsfolk thought I was nutty too. Not that it was without merit. I did appear to walk around talking to myself most of the time. Of course, I was really talking to the spirits who popped in and
out of my life at increasingly frequent intervals. Not that explaining that would do me any good.
I took in Granny’s appearance. While I was bundled up for the arctic, she was outside in her day slippers and a light cardigan. Either the cold didn’t bother her, or she had simply forgotten to dress for the weather. From the pale color of her complexion and the way her hands shook from the cold I was betting it was the latter.
“Granny,” I waved across the street to get her attention. Unfortunately, between the scraping of her shovel and her lack of hearing, my greeting was completely missed by her.
“Hey, Granny Smith!” I said while walking over to meet her. She still didn’t look up. Finally, I was right in front of her and I reached out and touched her hand.
She looked up at me in surprise. “Heavens to Betsy, you scared me,” she said. Up close the woman was a study on juxtaposition. Her hair was freshly permed, her lips painted a frosty pink, and over-sized pearls dangled from her ears—but, her cardigan was buttoned over a nightshirt and her slippers were sopping wet.
“I’m so sorry, I was just trying to get your attention. It’s freezing out here. Why don’t you come inside the bakery and warm up with a cup of coffee?” I asked.
Granny seemed to realize for the first time how cold she was. She raised her shoulders and shivered.
“I just put on a fresh pot and I have a batch of cinnamon rolls getting ready to come out of the oven. I know how much you love my cinnamon rolls,” I added to sweeten the deal. “Come on,” I said nodding my head toward the shop.
“But I need to clean up the rest of this snow,” Granny said, objecting. Technically, I was almost positive she didn’t. Granny lived in an apartment above the post office. I’d bet any money they were the ones responsible for keeping the sidewalk clear, but I didn’t even try to explain that.
Instead I said, “Here, let me take care of that.” I reached for Granny’s shovel and made quick work of cleaning off her portion of the sidewalk. Within a couple of minutes, I was finished. “There, done. Would you like to come across the street with me?”
“Did you say you had cinnamon rolls?” Granny replied.
“I do. Ellen should be taking them out right at this very moment.”
“What about coffee, do you have any coffee?”
“Hot and fresh.”
“Well, I suppose I can come over and sit for a spell. My shows don’t start for another couple of hours.”
Back at the bakery I took off my scarf and hung it up on the hook by the front door and lead Granny over to an empty table. Our southern mystery gal had struck up a conversation with a couple of customers and I was happy to see that the bakery felt a little bit more social. Ever since Cookie Heaven opened up that feeling had been lacking. Ellen was refilling everyone’s coffee cups, and I went behind the counter to get that cinnamon roll for Granny. To my relief, I saw that Mike had made his exit, but you could bet that I’d try to catch up with him sooner rather than later and find out with that whole ordeal had been about. I was convinced there was a story there, and it probably had something to do with the fact that Mike was the most eligible bachelor in the bay. Our mystery woman was probably just another lady hot on his trail and him.
Then to my relief, the shop got even busier. A couple of high school kids came in for an afternoon study session. A bride-to-be stopped in with her mom and a couple of her bridesmaids looking for a place to talk wedding plans. I tried to see it as a good thing when the mother said, “You’re right, this bakery is much quieter than the one across the street.”
I made sure to stop around all the tables and ask everyone if their desserts were to their liking and if the coffee tasted great. I wanted to remind people of why they came into The Sweet Tooth. Heck, I even ran upstairs to my former apartment and found a pair of warm wool socks left in the wardrobe and gave them to Granny, along with my scarf and coat when I realized how cold she still was.
The mystery woman came up for a refill and I had a moment to chat with her.
“So, are you here visiting family?” I asked.
“Something like that,” she smiled back with a wink.
I wasn’t sure what she meant, but she wasn’t offering up any additional information and I wasn’t about to pry. So instead I asked, “Did Mike ever stop in?”
“No, he didn’t, but he’s not escaping me that easy. I’ll catch up with him sooner or later,” she replied.
“I can pass the word on that you’re looking for him if you’d like,” I offered.
“That would be real sweet of you. Can you tell him that Tammy is looking for him? He knows where to find me.”
“Will do. It was nice to meet you. Thanks for stopping in,” I said.
“Pleasure was all mine,” Tammy replied.
Tammy left shortly after that and I moved around the bakery, letting the rhythm of the business carry me through the morning and into the early afternoon. It was almost two hours later when I noticed Granny was still sitting at her table by the window. My red scarf looking much the same around her neck. Her half-eaten cinnamon roll sat on the plate before her. Her gaze cast out the window.
“Is everything okay?” I asked Granny. She didn’t hear me. I walked closer and touched her hand. “Granny?” The woman didn’t flinch. Her hand was as cold as the fresh snow outside and her eyes, unblinking. I touched the back of my hand to her stony cheek and still the woman didn’t move.
“Cream and sugar,” I said under my breath. Granny was dead.
“Do you think she had a heart attack from shoveling?” Ellen asked me while we were waiting for the sheriff’s department to arrive.
“I suppose she could have. I don’t know. I feel awful. I had assumed she was just cold.” Guilt settled deep in my stomach. I switched the sign on the window to closed even though we were still technically open for another hour. Thank heavens most of our customers had cleared out before I had noticed Granny. Only Father Thompson, the Episcopal priest and Ellen’s boyfriend for lack of a better term, and Margaret, Amelia’s mom and London Manor’s house keeper, were present. Margaret had come into place a cookie order for her daughter’s upcoming baby shower. Amelia’s ex-husband had never allowed Margaret to throw a baby shower the first time around and Margaret was determined to do it right this time.
“Well, isn’t that something, that woman looks dead,” Granny’s ghost said from right beside me. I jumped a foot. One would think being a medium would make me use to ghosts popping up beside me, but nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, Nick loved scaring me on a daily basis.
As if on cue, Nick joined us a minute after Mrs. Smith made her appearance. “What did I miss?” he asked.
“What, do you have like a ghost bat signal or something?” I asked him.
“Don’t all ghosts?” Nick asked.
I had no idea if he was being serious or not. There was still so much I didn’t know about the afterlife. My grandfather’s sudden, unexplained appearance a couple of months ago only confirmed that. Nick had heard from the local ghosts that once you went up to heaven, you couldn’t come back down again. Either my grandfather was a grounded spirit, or he knew something we didn’t. My grandfather didn’t stick around long enough for me to find out. So now we weren’t sure what the rules were, but Nick wasn’t willing to chance it.
“Nick’s here,” I told the group. While I was the only one present who could see and communicate with spirits, my core group of family and friends took me at my word. Well, everyone except for my sister, Autumn, who quit believing in Santa Claus when she was three.
“You have to help me. I have no idea what she’s doing here,” I said to Nick. It would be great if Granny could go on a head and just cross over.
“You don’t by chance see a bright light anywhere, do you?” I asked Granny hopefully.
“No, I don’t see any fight,” Granny replied mishearing me. Just because she was dead didn’t mean that she could hear. It would take transitioning up to heaven to ma
ke her body whole again. Granny looked out the window to try to see what she was missing. “Who’s fighting? Where are they?”
“Fun,” Nick replied.
I gave him a look that suggested it was anything but. A headache started to build behind my eyes. I used my fingertips to rub my temples and try to get it to ease up before it became a full-blown migraine. The sooner Granny crossed over, the better. We needed to trigger the big event. The question was how? Nick and I had learned there’s always a reason why someone doesn’t cross over. Sometimes, it was only a matter of the person needing to acknowledge their death that would prompt the pearly gates to open and allow them to head on up. Other times, their spirit couldn’t rest because they had unfinished business to tackle on this plane. Those were the cases I had found myself tackling more and more frequently. But for Granny’s sake, and for ours, I hoped that once she realized that she had passed she would make a smooth transition up to heaven. That’s where Nick came in. I motioned with my head, “Go talk to her.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, but she needs to realize she’s passed. What better person to deliver that news then a fellow ghost?”
Nick didn’t look so sure, but always a team player, he stepped up to bat. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”
Nick’s watery-blue image walked over and attempted to get Granny’s attention. “Oh, hey, Granny,” Nick said attempting to address the new ghost. She didn’t hear him. She was still looking for a fight out the window. "Granny?” Nick said a bit louder this time. Still nothing. Finally, when Nick waved his hand in front of her face, he got her attention. More like, startled her.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“Doing all right,” Granny looked leery. “Do I know you?”
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