Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set 2

by Rosie A. Point

  “We’ve been over this a million times,” Bee said. “Let’s get back to Runaway and get some sleep. The best cure for an overwrought brain and an investigation that’s going nowhere is a good meal and some rest. We’ll attend the memorial service tomorrow and question some of the suspects.”

  And if that didn’t work?

  It would be the first time that we hadn’t solved a case in our short time together on the food truck. We simply couldn’t allow that to happen.

  18

  The following day…

  “I’ll admit that this wasn’t the next date I had planned for us,” Jamie said, and offered me his hand. He’d opened the door of his Porsche for me, while Bee waited patiently in the back. Or impatiently, depending on how you looked at it.

  My bestie kept her gaze fixed on the house where Drake’s memorial would be taking place.

  Apparently, the Drake Haynes Fan Club had pooled their resources and rented out the place from the owner. It was a grand mansion—like the one Jamie now lived in—and had a breathtaking front lawn that swept toward a distant creek.

  “Ruby?” Jamie’s hand hovered in front of my eyes.

  “Right. Yeah. Thanks.” I took it and tried to ignore the rush of butterflies in my stomach.

  It was silly that I liked this man so much after such a little time. Silly and scary, but oh well. I had to do some things that scared me or I’d never step out of my comfort zone or grow or any of the stuff that people were meant to do if they wanted to become better human beings.

  “Thank you,” I repeated.

  Jamie kept hold of my hand a little longer than necessary. Dapper in his black suit, he offered me a heart-melting smile. “You’re very welcome.” He opened the door for Bee and offered her a hand too, but she waved it away and got out herself.

  “What are we thinking?” she asked, the minute she was on her feet, brushing off her velvety black dress. It was demure and draped right down to her ankles. She reminded me of an old-fashioned movie star, if movie stars had a that sleuthin’ twinkle in their eyes.

  “I’m thinking this is going to be an interesting morning.” I checked my reflection in the Porsche’s shimmering windows. I had opted for a neat black dress that fell to just above the knees and a matching pillbox hat with lace trim.

  “Is it wrong of me to say you look lovely?” Jamie asked, in a low rumble.

  I blushed and allowed him to take my hand again. How was it that a gentleman like Jamie had popped out of the woodwork? He had his problems, sure, with his ex-wife and leaving his profession, but he’d been nothing but nice to me.

  “You don’t look too bad yourself,” I replied, and squeezed his fingers.

  “Relax, you two. We’re not here for the buffet,” Bee said, stiffly. “We’ve got a purpose, and I’m going to need you both with your eyes and ears open. The one woman who should be at this memorial service isn’t here because she’s been wrongfully accused of Drake’s murder.”

  “Right,” I said, and reluctantly let go of Jamie’s hand. It was the only way I’d maintain a head free of hearts and rainbows. “Maybe it was one of the fan club members.”

  “Maybe.” Bee set off walking for the grand front steps that led up to the wraparound porch. Drake’s picture had been placed on an easel next to the front door, and a flower arrangement sat on the other side of it, in purples, whites, and yellows.

  “Any new suspects?” Jamie asked.

  We hadn’t excluded him from our investigations purposefully, but there was a part of me that worried he would get into trouble for helping us. I hesitated to answer his question.

  “The manager, Nathan Bratte,” Bee said, “and then the pregnant ex-girlfriend, Becca Sherer. Nathan is balding and a weasel of a man, and Becca is… well, she’ll probably be the only pregnant woman around.”

  “Got it.”

  We entered the house and were greeted by a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes. One of the hosts, a member of the fan club who wore a ‘D.H. Fan Club’ pin on the lapel of her black pants suit, approached.

  My eyes widened. It was Jennifer! The same woman who’d had an argument with Mrs. Rickleston in the street the other day. Platinum blonde bob, perfect makeup and nails, Jennifer strutted over to us wearing a welcoming smile.

  “So glad you could make it, Ruby. Bee.” She kissed either of us on the cheek then turned her attention toward Jamie. “And it’s lovely to meet you, Mr. …?” She extended a hand.

  “Hanson,” Jamie replied, and shook her hand.

  My heart jumped into my throat—and not because I was jealous. The ring! Jennifer had one of those fake gold, cubic zirconia rings on her finger. It was identical to the ring I’d secreted in my black clutch purse on the way over here.

  Was it any coincidence that Jennifer had the ring when she’d worked with Lucy and despised Mrs. Rickleston? The dots connected in my mind, and I went stiff as a board. Bee nudged me to get me to loosen up.

  “Are you the head of the fan club?” Bee asked.

  “Me? Oh no, not the head of the fan club, no. But I am one of its loyal members. We wanted to do Drake justice by hosting this send-off. I still can’t believe he’s gone,” she said, and touched her fingers to her cheeks. “And the way he died. Just so unforgettable.”

  “Terrible,” I agreed, nodding.

  Jamie placed a hand in the small of my back. “Nice to meet you,” he said, and guided me away.

  I glanced back at Jennifer, unable to keep my curiosity at bay. She watched us walk off, but her gaze was on Jamie rather than me. Perhaps, she’d spotted her next target?

  Bee fell into step beside us. “What do you think?” she asked, taking a sip from a champagne flute she’d snagged from a passing tray.

  “Let’s talk outside,” I whispered, heading for the terrace through the open French doors.

  People milled around, talking quietly among themselves, all in black, some smiling, some solemn, and Drake’s music played from speakers throughout the mansion and in the yard.

  The grass was trimmed beautifully and lush green, and chairs had been set up outside, facing a podium and a picture of Drake with yet another floral arrangement, this one even bigger than the last, with the letters ‘DH’ spelled out in roses at its center.

  Doubtless, this was where the fan club would say a few words about their hero. And where we’d be seated while spying on Jennifer again.

  We gravitated toward the buffet table, and Jamie grabbed us plates of food while Bee, and I surveyed the guests and gossiped.

  “What do you think?” Bee asked, again.

  “She’s got the ring.”

  “I saw. But did she have the motive?”

  “I mean, we’ll just have to investigate her,” I said.

  Drake’s heavily pregnant ex, Becca, waddled down the back steps, wearing a black dress that flowed around her belly. She stopped by the buffet table and examined the spread. A waiter appeared next to her and offered her the tray of champagne glasses.

  She glimmered a smile his way, accepted a glass and knocked it back then replaced it on the tray and took another. She slurped that one down too before taking a third.

  My eyes went round, and I turned my back on her so she wouldn’t see my reaction. “Bee,” I hissed. “Bee.”

  “What?”

  “Is that champagne non-alcoholic?” I asked.

  “Definitely not.” She’d already set her empty glass aside. “One and done for me. I’m not a big drinker and this is some strong stuff. Good heavens, Ruby, what’s wrong?”

  “Something happen?” Jamie asked, reappearing with a plate stacked with sliced chicken, gravy and biscuits. Weird memorial service food if you asked me.

  “I just saw Becca drinking champagne. Two whole glasses of it.”

  Bee’s eyebrows shot up. “But she’s pregnant.”

  “Right. Exactly. Pregnant with Junior’s child, or so she says. And she had ‘thrown away’ her ring. The one he gave her.”

  B
ecca walked toward the chairs and took a seat. She’d abandoned the champagne now, and her waddle too. She walked straight for a few steps before stopping herself and slouching back into an uncomfortable ‘overly pregnant’ pose—clutching her back and pressing her pelvis forward.

  “Something’s not right here,” I said.

  “What are you thinking?” Bee asked.

  “I don’t know, but we need to keep an eye on her. Tail her back to the Runaway when this is over. I have a feeling that Becca isn’t telling us the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  19

  It’d taken a significant amount of convincing to get Jamie to drop us off at the Runaway Inn without following us indoors. He was worried that we’d wind up in trouble. That made sense since we’d asked him to follow Becca’s car back to the inn.

  Oh, and since we believed she was up to something, and it wasn’t good.

  Our new prime suspect had ‘thrown away’ the ring she’d been given by Drake, had downed several glasses of champagne at the memorial service and had just driven her car under the influence. If only we could figure out whether she stood to gain anything from Drake’s death…

  We couldn’t trust what she’d been saying about the pregnancy, could we?

  “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” I muttered, as Bee and I headed inside.

  Becca had entered ahead of us.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Bee said. “It’s been a stressful week.”

  We entered the Runaway Inn in time to witness Becca taking the stairs to the first floor. Bee and I followed her up, pretending to talk about the service, the food, everything in between, while we sneaked glances at her.

  Becca let herself into a room off the first-floor hallway, nodding to us as we passed. She shut the door, but the rattle of the key locking it didn’t come.

  Bee and I stopped.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. We could peek through the keyhole?”

  It wasn’t the most embarrassing thing we’d done since we’d started investigating crimes like these and, heck, we were desperate at this point. I took the lead and crossed to Becca’s door, bending to peer through the hole. I caught sight of a suite that was similar to mine, with a bed, a set of armchairs and coffee table. I guessed there was a doorway just out of sight that led to the bathroom.

  I handed Bee my clutch purse and braced my hands on my knees, nearly toppling in my high heels.

  “Easy,” Bee whispered.

  “Not so loud,” I breathed. “She might hear us.”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek, waiting patiently. Minutes ticked by—more like an eternity. I hadn’t done any squats in what felt like years and my thighs burned in the hunched-over position.

  Finally, Becca ambled into view. She wore her black dress and was texting someone on her phone. I’d have given anything to—

  Becca put down her phone and reached under her dress, standing just within view, framed in the keyhole. She grunted and fiddled, then tugged hard. Her pregnant belly slipped out from under her dress and she held it aloft.

  I gasped and stumbled, then fell forward, slamming face first into the door.

  The thump would’ve woken the dead, let alone alerted Becca to our presence.

  Bee grabbed my arm and tried to pull me upright, but the door opened before she could and we both tumbled into the bedroom, one after the other. We fell in a heap on the polished wooden floor, groaning and ‘oophing’

  “Well, hello,” Becca said, and the door slammed again. This time, the key was put into the lock and turned.

  I clambered up, and Bee was right after me.

  Becca’s pregnancy belly lay on the floor a little way away, and she walked calmly toward it and lifted it up. She placed it on top of her dresser, then turned to us, flicking back her chocolate brown hair. “I suppose you want answers,” she said.

  “That’s all right,” I replied. “We didn’t mean to interrupt you. We should leave. Right, Bee?”

  “Right.” Bee walked for the door and turned the key.

  “Don’t. Move.” Becca’s tone carried a hint of something sinister. “You’re not leaving yet, ladies. I’ve had my eyes on both of you for a while.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” Bee asked, folding her arms and facing the murderer. Because that was what she had to be.

  The murderess and the person who had been at Lucy’s house soon after her arrest. The thief. All she’d had to do was remove her prosthetic belly and we hadn’t guessed it was her.

  “Don’t play dumb.” Becca retrieved a gun from underneath her bed—one of Lucy’s if my guess was right—and aimed it first at me then at Bee. She calmly switched it between the two of us, back and forth. “There’s only one reason you would be spying on me and that’s because you suspect I had something to do with Drake’s death.”

  “No, nothing like that.” I scrambled for a solution to our quandary. We hadn’t called Wilkes before spying on Becca—why would we have? We’d had the faintest hint of a suspicion that something wasn’t right with her. We couldn’t possibly have known she was about to whip off her pregnancy belly and point a gun at us. An antique by the looks of it. Kind of reminded me of a pistol a pirate might use.

  “Nothing like that,” Becca said, and tut-tutted. “Ladies, there’s no point in denying it. You figured me out. I’m the one who killed Drake, and I’m the one who shot at Mrs. Rickleston, though it wasn’t her I was aiming for.”

  “Jennifer.” I put a hand over my mouth. “Why?”

  “Because she was on to me,” Becca said. “As one of those pathetic fan club members, she wanted to know what happened to her dear Drake. But my aim isn’t what it should be. Let’s hope I don’t miss your heart and hit you in the head this time, eh?”

  “Don’t shoot!” Bee yelled. “Listen, we can talk about this. You don’t have to do this Becca.”

  “Don’t I?” Fury settled over her fine features. “I warned him not to cross me, but he couldn’t help himself, could he? He dated every woman between here and Chicago! Including that purple-haired freak at the salon. And now he’s dead and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. You have no idea how much joy it’s brought me watching everyone cry over him and panic and mourn.”

  “Why didn’t you leave when you had the chance?” I asked.

  “What, and miss out on all the fun? The crying and whining? No, no, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, I had debts to pay, and that salon idiot’s house had plenty to steal.” She gestured with the gun. “Any last words? Didn’t think so.” She took aim at Bee and pulled the trigger.

  “No!” I screamed, leaping in front of my friend.

  But no gunshot came.

  “What the…?” Becca checked the gun and tried firing it again, but it produced several hollow clicks. “Stupid thing. Don’t worry, I’ve got another one around here somewhere.”

  I made to run at her, but the door burst open before I could. Jamie sprinted into the room and tackled Becca onto the bed. He flipped her over, easy as pie, and pinned her hands behind her back.

  “Quick, Ruby, call the cops.”

  He didn’t have to ask me twice.

  20

  A week or so later…

  The time had come to pack up our stuff, leave our quaint rooms in the Runaway Inn behind, and head out of Muffin for good. I’d already brought my bags downstairs and placed them in front of the reception desk.

  I’d expected to be in tears at this point, but it wasn’t me who was the most upset.

  “I’ll miss this place so much,” Bee sobbed, and dragged a tissue under either eye.

  Mrs. Rickleston rose from behind the desk, her arm still bandaged up from where she’d been shot. “It’s been such a pleasure to have you at the Runaway Inn, dears. I know we haven’t exactly had the smoothest of relationships since you arrived, but it has been lovely knowing you. Everyone will miss the truck.”

  A knock came at
the front doors of the inn, thrown open to admit sunlight from outside. Lucy stood on the threshold, bearing a bouquet of flowers, her dark hair had been streaked with fresh purple color and a hint of blue here and there that she said was in memory of Drake.

  “Can I come in?”

  “You can,” Mrs. Rickleston said, “but may you?”

  Lucy blinked fake lashes. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Yes, dear, come in.” Mrs. Rickleston had changed color the minute Lucy had arrived. Now, was the moment of truth.

  We’d seen Lucy several times over the past week, and she’d been overjoyed at being released from prison. One of the first things she’d done was to find out where Drake had been laid to rest and had made plans to go see him.

  This, however, was the first time Lucy and Mrs. Rickleston had encountered each other since then. Rather, since Mrs. Rickleston had kicked her and Drake out of the Runaway Inn before the murder.

  The women sized each other up.

  Mrs. Rickleston cleared her throat. “I owe you an apology, I suppose,” she said, somewhat begrudgingly. “I judged you too harshly.”

  “So, I’m allowed in the inn now?” Lucy asked, raising a perfectly penciled eyebrow.

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose you are.”

  “Cool.” That was all. Lucy and Mrs. Rickleston would probably never be best friends, or even regular friends, but at least they were civil. Lucy handed Bee the bouquet of flowers. “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” she said.

  Bee burst into tears again and practically buried her face in the flowers.

  “Oh no, girl, don’t cry.” Lucy folded her into a hug and promptly squashed the flowers.

  I stifled a smile. I was sad to go too, but I was more nervous. Jamie was due to arrive any minute to say goodbye, and I wasn’t sure how I’d handle it after everything that had transpired. He still gave me butterflies, but I couldn’t stay in one town for a man.