Wined, Dined and Dead: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery

by Stacey Alabaster

  I tried to steady my breathing as Jackson—Detective Whitaker—entered the room and threw a folder on the table, before studying the contents as though he was cramming for a test he had to take the next day. He rubbed his temples and frowned.

  Is he even going to make eye contact with me? Is he just going to completely ignore the interaction we had at the fair? Pretend it never even happened.

  "Jackson..." I started, before I was met with a steely glare. "Detective. Surely you can't think I had anything to do with this?"

  Jackson looked up at me slowly. "Had you ever had any contact with Mrs. Batters before today?"

  I shifted in my seat. "Yes," I had to admit. "I knew her a little from the store. She was always quite antagonistic towards me, but I'd never try to kill her!"

  "Witnesses near the scene said that you two had an argument." He gave me that same steely glare. Where was the charming, flirty, sweet guy I'd meet earlier? He was now buried beneath a suit and a huge attitude.

  "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 P
ie to Die For. I really hope you liked it. You can read the rest at:

  amazon.com/dp/B01D6ZVT78

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

  FairfieldPublishing.com/cozy-newsletter/

  Make sure you turn to the next page for the preview of Dying for a Drive.

  amazon.com/dp/B01D6ZVT78

  Preview: Dying for a Drive

  The crisp air tickled Felicity’s nose, so she bundled up tight as she headed out of Senoia Coffee on the corner, gripping her hot chocolate. It was still early fall, which was rare to be chilly so soon in Georgia, but an unexpected cold front had come in. She smiled as she went out to the street and could see all of the classic cars getting ready for the event. Everything was running smoothly, and Wanda seemed to be smiling her approval as the two women walked up the sidewalk together back toward Overton’s Events, which had become the headquarters for the car show’s event planning.

  Felicity smiled when she saw Jefferson speaking with a customer while a few of the car owners waited patiently for his attention. He was keeping a steady eye on the hustle going on around him while maintaining an upbeat smile for the curious patron. Not wanting to break his rhythm, she plopped the second cup of hot chocolate she had bought on the counter beside him and he nodded his thanks. She got to work addressing any concerns of the car owners. There were a few complaints about spacing and crowds but nothing she couldn’t handle thanks to the notes Wanda had given. They were so detailed that Felicity was prepared for just about anything, and all the participants, from the overly gracious to hilariously stubborn, performed just as expected. Soon she was back in the street again after a solid “Good job” was thrown her way from Wanda, who headed in the opposite direction to help finish putting out signs.

  Soon the event was underway, and the streets were lined with people who had come to gawk at the cars. She headed toward the gazebo where the out-of-towner, Charles, had parked his Cobra. The old car was a beautiful metallic red that glinted pristinely in the sunlight. Charles had opted out of having a show tent so the buyer could see how the sun hit the car. As she walked over, she could see Charles polishing it for what had to be the third time since he’d driven up that morning, and he was doing so with a cigar dangling awkwardly from his lips to avoid getting ash on the paint.

  “So have you sold it yet?” Felicity asked as she came upon the older gentleman. Charles made her slightly uncomfortable. When she’d met him that morning to go over the details of the event, she’d tried her hardest to be professional, but the old man’s gaze had barely made it above her neckline and he had thrown her a compliment about her chest she’d rather never hear repeated. He took a long drag of his cigar and leaned against the hood, eyeing her lewdly. The man had to be at least sixty-five, but that certainly did not stop him from eyeing any female who passed him by with an immodest gaze.

  “Maybe,” he huffed, looking slightly annoyed as a young man walked around from the back of the vehicle.

  “Maybe is right,” the young man said, and Felicity grinned.

  “Adam,” Felicity said. “So you’re the mysterious car-buyer?”

  Adam Fao was a local, and she knew him well. He came from old money, and everyone in town knew he had finally taken over his father’s finances after a long court battle with some distant relatives who tried to claim the older Fao had attempted to leave them oodles of cash. It had of course been a lie, and it had driven Adam mad the past several months. He hadn’t even dealt with burying his father before he was suddenly embroiled in a battle for everything he’d ever owned. It was a shame, really, how many family members came out of the woodwork when a relative died just to try to collect some money. Adam, his father’s only child, had of course received his father’s inheritance. Adam’s father had always been a fan of the car show, often buying cars and showing them off the next year with his own restorations. He even made a hefty donation to keep the event going, and it looked like his son was continuing the tradition.

  Adam smiled. “Who else around here do you think would want to buy something like this?” He laughed slightly. He was dressed in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and blue jeans; that was something that certainly made him different from the older Fao. Felicity could not remember ever seeing Adam’s father in anything other than a suit. Adam grabbed at the hem of his shirt and pulled it down. “Look,” he said. Felicity could see a large gob of oil soaking Adam’s t-shirt.

  “Yikes,” she said.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Charles said. “It’s an old car. Old cars leak.”

  “I’m amazed you were able to get it here from Florida,” Adam said; he sounded slightly annoyed. “I’m sorry, but I am not paying this much for a car that has issues. Not the amount we discussed, at least.”

  “I didn’t drive all the way from Panama for you to tell me you changed your mind,” Charles retorted, eyeing the young man reproachfully.

  “Dad.” A young man hopped out of the passenger’s seat. Instantly, Felicity could see the resemblance to Charles. The young man was in his thirties, and wore the same scowl as his father. “You can’t sell him a car with problems. We didn’t know it had a leak, all right? We’ll be in town for a few days. We can hire a mechanic and fix it up.”

  “It wasn’t leaking yesterday,” Charles spat.

  “Well, it is now,” Adam rebuked and attempted to clean the oil off his shirt. “It’s just an oil leak. Have someone look into it, and then we can talk.”

  Charles’s son nodded. “That’s perfectly reasonable,” he said and glared at his father. Charles glared back and harrumphed while walking behind the Cobra, grumbling to himself about spoiled rich kids and ungrateful sons. The young man rolled his eyes and looked at Felicity. “I’m Brandon Jones, by the way. I think we talked on the phone last week about the car.”

  Felicity stuck her hand out. “Yes, I remember,” she said as they shook hands. She took a moment to look him up and down and realized just how much like his father he really did look. She considered mentioning it, but before she could say much more, shouting was suddenly heard from the gazebo. She glanced up to see two local women, Monica Barns and Jesse Timid, going back and forth. She couldn’t make out everything they were saying with them screaming over each other, but what she could hear was pretty colorful to say the least. She put her hands on her hips, ready to go settle whatever feud had started.

  “They’re at it again, huh?” Charles laughed, nudging his son.

  “Shut up,” Brandon snapped, the scowl etching itself deeper into his brow. He exhaled with exasperation and started toward the women. He waved a hand toward Felicity. “Don’t worry, I’ll settle them down.”

  Adam rolled his eyes and hooked his arm into Felicity’s. “Come on, let the circus clowns handle this. Trust me, you don’t want to get into the middle of this one. Show me your shop; I haven’t seen it yet.” He marched her away from Charles, who was laughing while puffing on his cigar.

  She walked with Adam, but she unhooked arms as she glanced over her shoulder. “What’s wrong with Monica and Jesse?” She wasn’t majorly concerned, but she had a journalist’s ear for gossip. Besides, the two women had gotten particularly vicious, and if they kept it up, the cars weren’t going to be the only spectacle today.

  Adam laughed. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Kind of,” Felicity said with a grin, sensing something juicy was amiss.

  “That old creep, Charles Jones, catfished them both and they’re ticked off,” Adam said.

  “Catfished?” Felicity questioned.

  “You know, catfished. It’s when you pretend to be someone online that you’re not. He was chatting it up with them both, flirting and talking about how much money he had. Acting like some hot, young bigshot from Florida. Then he shows up, and, well, he’s just an old creep pitting two old friends against each other. When he wasn’t some sexy thirty-something, they both got mad at him and at each other. Apparently, they’ve been fighting for weeks over him, an
d now that he’s here… Well, you can imagine they’re pretty disappointed to realize they’ve been sexting with some creepy old pervert.”

  “Seriously? What kind of person does that?” Felicity questioned. “Monica and Jesse, I don’t know them well, but they’re pretty close friends, right? Why are they even fighting, though? It seems like they should be mad at Charles, not each other.”

  “I think they’re fighting over Brandon,” Adam said with a snort.

  “For crying out loud!” Felicity laughed. Some people never ceased to amaze her.

  After giving Adam a tour of the shop and then spending some time checking in on all of the car owners and speaking with Wanda about how the event was going, Felicity found herself heading back to the shop just as Jefferson was exiting.

  He smiled and stopped her. “Time for a break,” he said with a wink, letting her know he had someone inside watching the counter.

  “A break? I don’t have time for a break, Jeffrey,” she asserted, but he marched her across the street toward the local ice cream shop.

  “Oh, yes, you do. You’ve been on your feet all morning. You can take a ten-minute break and let me buy you some ice cream. Besides, while you’ve been running around, I’ve booked us two new events, and I say that’s cause for celebration,” he said and walked with a slight skip.

  “Jefferson, that’s great!” she said.

  The next thing she knew, they were sitting outside in front of the ice cream shop next to the elevator that led out into the street. The elevator let people into the office buildings on the second and third floor as well as into the basement area where a locally-owned Irish pub operated. The two of them sat together people-watching the crowd who had come out to enjoy the car show. “This event turned out really well,” Jefferson said. “This is the most crowded I’ve ever seen the car show. You did good, Felicity.”