The Pumpkin Killer: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery

by Stacey Alabaster

  "Well...it wasn't an argument...she was just...winding me up, like she always does."

  Jackson shot me a sharp look. "So, she was annoying you? Was she making you angry?"

  "Well... Well..." I tripped over my words. He was now making me nervous for an entirely different reason than he had earlier. Those butterflies were back, but now they felt like daggers.

  Come on, Rach. Everyone knows that the first suspect in Criminal Point is not the one that actually did it.

  But how many people had Jackson already interviewed? Maybe he was saving me for last. Gosh, maybe my cherry pie had actually killed the woman!

  "Answer the question please, Miss Robinson."

  "Not angry, no. I was just frustrated."

  "Frustrated?" A smile curled at his lips before he pounced. "Frustrated with Mrs. Batters?"

  "No! The situation. Come on—you were there!" I tried to appeal to his sympathies, but he remained a brick wall.

  "It doesn't matter whether I was there or not. That is entirely besides the point." He said the words a little too forcefully.

  I swallowed. "I couldn't get any customers to try my cakes, and Bakermatic was luring everyone away with their free samples." I stopped as my brows shot up involuntarily. "Jackson! Sorry, Detective. Mrs. Batters ate at Bakermatic as well!"

  My words came out in a stream of breathless blabber as I raced to get them out. "Bakermatic must be to blame! They cut corners, they use cheap ingredients. Oh, and I know how much Mrs. Batters loved their food! She was always eating there. Believe me, she made that very clear to me."

  Jackson sat back and folded his arms across his chest. "Don't try to solve this case for us."

  I sealed my lips. Looks like I might have to at this rate.

  "We are investigating every place Mrs. Batters ate today. You don't need to worry about that."

  I leaned forward and banged my palm on the table. "But I do need to worry about it! This is my job, my livelihood…my life on the line. If people think I am to blame, that will be the final nail in my bakery's coffin!" Oh, what a day. And I'd thought it was bad enough that I hadn't gotten any customers at my stand. Now I was being accused of killing a woman!

  I could have sworn I saw a flicker of sympathy finally crawl across Jackson's face. He stood up and readjusted his tie, but he still refused to make full eye contact. "You're free to go, Miss Robinson," he said gently. There was that tone from earlier, finally. He seemed recognizable as a human at long last.

  "Really?"

  He nodded. "For the moment. But we might have some more questions for you later, so don't leave town."

  I tried to make eye contact with him as I left, squirreling out from underneath his arm as he held the door open for me, but he just kept staring at the floor.

  Did that mean he wasn't coming back to my bakery after all?

  Pippa was still waiting for me when I returned home later that evening. There was a chill in the air, which meant that I headed straight for a blanket and the fireplace when I finally crawled in through the door. Pippa shot me a sympathetic look as I curled up and crumbled in front of the flames. How had today gone so wrong, so quickly?

  "I recorded the last part of the show," Pippa said softly. "If you're up for watching it."

  I groaned and lay on the carpet, my back straight against the floor like I was a little kid. "I don't think I can stomach it after what I just went through. Can you believe it? Accusing ME of killing Mrs. Batters? When I know that Bakermatic is to blame. I mean, Pippa, they must be! But this detective wouldn't even listen to me when I was trying to explain Bakermatic's dodgy practices to him."

  Pippa leaned forward and took the lid off a pot, the smell of the brew hitting my nose. "Pippa, what is that?"

  She grinned and stirred it, which only made the smell worse. I leaned back and covered my nose. "Thought it might be a bit heavy for you. I basically took every herb, tea, and spice that you had in your cabinet and came up with this! I call it 'Pippa's Delight'!"

  "Yeah well, it doesn't sound too delightful." I sat up and scrunched up my nose. "Oh, what the heck—pour me a cup."

  "Are you sure?" Pippa asked with a cheeky grin.

  "Go on. I'll be brave."

  I braced myself as the brown liquid hit the white mug.

  It was as disgusting as I had imagined, but at least it made me laugh when the pungent concoction hit my tongue. Pippa always had a way of cheering me up. If it wasn't her unusual concoctions, or her ever changing hair color—red this week but pink the last, and purple a week before that—then it was her never-ending array of careers and job changes that entertained me and kept me on my toes. When you're trying to run your own business, forced to be responsible day in and day out, you have to live vicariously through some of your more free-spirited friends. And Pippa was definitely that: free-spirited.

  "Hey!" I said suddenly, as an idea began to brew in my brain. I didn't know if it was the tea that suddenly brought all my senses to life or what it was, but I found myself slamming my mug on the table with new found enthusiasm. "Pippa, have you got a job at the moment?" I could never keep up with Pippa's present state of employment.

  She shrugged as she kicked her feet up and lay back on the sofa. "Not really! I mean, I've got a couple of things in the works. Why's that?"

  I pondered for a moment. "Pippa, if you could get a job at Bakermatic, you could see first hand what they’re up to!" My voice was a rush of excitement as I clapped my hands together. "You would get to find out the ways they cut corners, the bad ingredients they use, and, if you were really lucky, you might even overhear someone say something about Mrs. Batters!"

  A gleam appeared in Pippa's green eyes. "Well, I do need a job, especially after today."

  I raced on. "Yes! And you've got plenty of experience working in cafes."

  "Yeah. I've worked in hundreds of places." She took a sip of the tea and managed to swallow it. She actually seemed to enjoy it.

  "I know you've got a lot of experience. You're sure to get the job. They’re always looking for part-timers." Unfortunately, Bakermatic was planning on expanding the storefront even further, and that meant they were looking for even more employees to fill their big yellow store. "Pippa, this is the perfect plan! We'll get you an application first thing in the morning. Then you can start investigating!"

  Pippa raised her eyebrows. "Investigating?"

  I nodded and lay my head back down on the carpet. "Criminal Point—Belldale Style! Bakery Investigation Unit! I will investigate and do what I can from my end as well! Perhaps I could talk to people from all the other food stalls! Oh, Pippa, we're going to make a crack team of detectives!"

  "The Bakery Detectives!"

  We both started giggling but, as the full weight of the day's events started to pile up on me, I felt my stomach tighten. It might seem fun to send Pippa in to spy on Bakermatic, but this was serious. My bakery, my livelihood, and even my own freedom depended on it.

  Thanks for reading a sample of my book, A Pie to Die For. I really hope you liked it. You can read the rest at:

  FairfieldPublishing.com/pie-to-die-for

  Or you can get it for free by signing up for our newsletter.

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  Make sure you turn to the next page for the preview of Murder in the Mountains.

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  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. Reddi
sh 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:

  FairfieldPublishing.com/murder-in-mountains

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