by Abby Byne
Raspberry Ripple Murder
Bitsie’s Bakeshop Cozy Mysteries
Book One
By Abby Byne
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Raspberry Ripple Murder: Killer Cupcakes Book One ©2016 Abby Byne. Revised edition ©2020 Abby Byne. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover Art © freepik.com
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
“So, how does it feel?” Liz asked as she peeked her head around the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the bakery storefront.
Bitsie dipped her finger into the luscious raspberry-flavored cupcake batter in the bowl in front of her and answered her sister-in-law’s question with one her own.
”How does what feel?”
“How does it feel to be a small-business owner?” Liz asked.
“Oh, you saw the new sign up out front. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course, I don’t mind,” Liz answered. “It’s a beautiful sign, and it makes me happy to see your name up there instead of my own.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” Liz insisted. “You bought this place fair and square. Stan and I will put that money to excellent use, I can tell you. Now that Stan’s taken early retirement, we can travel more. I’m relieved you took the place off our hands.”
Bitsie let the matter rest. She shouldn’t worry about what Liz would think about her taking down the sign that read, “Lizzy’s Sweets” and putting up another that said, “Bitsie’s Bakeshop.” After all, it was her own place now.
Bitsie smiled at her sister-in-law and passed her a spoonful of batter.
“It’s something new I’m trying,” Bitsie said. “I thought I’d call it raspberry ripple. What do you think?”
“I think it’s delicious. Of course, you never can tell until it comes out of the oven.”
“True. This is my eighth batch. We tried them out on customers today, and they were pretty popular, so I suppose I should give up fine-tuning the flavors at some point.”
“Is that lemon zest in there?” Liz asked.
“Yes. Isn’t it lovely?”
It was lovely. It was all lovely. The sweet scent of the cupcakes on the cooling racks, the chatter of customers filtering through the swinging door, the feeling of being back in the town she’d grown up in surrounded by people who loved her and, best of all, having 1,873 miles between her and Robert, the man who’d promised to love, honor and cherish—
Bitsie blinked back tears. That had been happening a lot lately, the urge to cry.
“Oh, Bitsie,” Liz said, coming and wrapping her arms around her sister-in-law. “I’m so sorry you have to go through all this.”
“Can’t be helped. I have no regrets. I did everything I could.”
“I know you did,” Liz said. “You’re a better woman than I am. I wouldn’t have even considered taking that rotten cheating rat back. I think you must be some kind of saint.”
“Hardly. And you don’t know what you’d do,” Bitsie said. She pulled away and began pouring the batter into the cupcake pans. Bitsie appreciated the sympathy, but the problem with sympathy was that it always ended up making her even more emotional than she already was.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this whole horrible ordeal,” Bitsie continued, “it’s that it’s never safe to say what you’d do in any situation until you’ve actually gone through it.”
“I suppose.” Liz looked doubtful. “The one thing I’ve learned from watching Ro—“
Liz paused, hesitant to go on.
“It’s OK. You’re allowed to say his name. It’s not as if we can just pretend it didn’t happen,” Bitsie reassured her.
“I’ll just say that the one thing I’ve learned is how true that old saying is, that one about Old Fools,” said Liz.
“What saying?”
“You know the one: ‘There’s no fool like an old fool.’”
“I rather take exception to that,” Bitsie protested, but she was laughing. “Robert’s only two years older than I am, and I don’t think 52 is exactly geriatric—“
“Robert may not be teetering on the brink of old age, but how could he leave you for—“ Liz trailed off again.
Bitsie slipped the pans of raspberry ripple cupcakes into the oven and turned to face her sister-in-law. “—for a woman young enough to be his daughter, you mean?”
“Yes,” said Liz. “That’s literally what Robert did. She’s 25. That’s a whole year younger than Emily!“
“At least my daughter turned out to have better taste in men than I did. Emily picked a good one when she picked Bradley, thank goodness. At least I don’t have to worry about her.”
“I don’t know,” said Liz. “I like Bradley, too. But I was convinced that you’d picked a good one when you picked Robert.”
“He was a good one, back then.”
“That’s not a very reassuring thought.” Liz frowned. “If Stan ever did anything like that to me—”
“My brother would never—how about we talk about something more pleasant,” Bitsie suggested.
“Alright,” said Liz. “How about when you’re done with this test-bake, you leave the closing up to your able assistant, and take me over to see your new place?”
“Do you think Nick would mind?”
“Someone talking about me?” Nick smiled as he came in the door from the shop.
“I’m kidnapping Bitsie,” said Liz, “as soon as those raspberry ripples come out of the oven. I told her you were good to close up on your own.”
“Sure,” said Nick with an amiable smile on his face.
Bitsie tried not to stare. She almost succeeded. The man was just so spectacularly good-looking. With his blond hair and green eyes and tan skin, Nick would have looked a lot more at home on a beach somewhere than he did in the bakery.
“See! I told you Nick was the best hire I ever made,” Liz insisted. “Been with me eight years, and now he’s all yours.”
“I’m all hers, am I? Can’t say I mind that.” Nick smiled a bit too broadly, and Liz punched him playfully on the arm.
“Bitsie is a married woman, you know,” Liz pointed out, “for two or three more days, anyway.”
Bitsie blushed a furious red. Nick looked at her and smiled even more broadly. Liz and Nick were teasing her, she knew, but it seemed so inappropriate, a man of 40 flirting with a woman ten years his senior, never mind that woman was his boss.
Bitsie struggled to regain her composure. She shouldn’t take it seriously. She was sure Nick didn’t mean her to. Stan might have left her for a 25-year old, but she, Bitsie Harman (soon to be Bitsie George again after 27 years), was not going to look like a fool by flirting with a man a decade younger than herself.
“Oh, Bitsie,” said Liz, as Nick ducked back out to the shop with a tray of maple nut cupcakes to replenish the case, “I forgot to tell you, the landlord called me today—I told him he should be calling you, but I guess he forgot to put your number in his phone.”
“What did he want?”
“He’s been promising for a
ges to upgrade the electrical system in the building, and he’s finally following through. He’s found a contractor willing to work his crew nights, so it won’t interfere with business.”
“Does he know that Hector and Anabel come in at three in the morning to start baking?”
“He said that shouldn’t be a problem. The electricians will come in right after closing and leave by three.”
Bitsie was out front washing the windows when Nick came rushing outside.
“I got them out of the oven before they actually caught fire, “Nick said, “but I’m afraid half of your latest test-batch of raspberry ripples is ruined.”
She’d taken out the first half of the batch and put in the second half but had forgotten to set the timer! Bitsie followed Nick into the kitchen to view the remains of her burnt raspberry ripples. They were a charred mess.
“Do you think there’s any hope of salvaging the pans?” Bitsie asked Nick.
“Where there’s life, there’s hope,” said Nick philosophically. “You might try leaving them to soak in the sink for a while.”
By the time Bitsie fell into bed that evening, she was exhausted.
She had left the closing-up to Nick, just as Liz had suggested. She was lucky to have inherited such an experienced and competent staff. Bitsie might be a whiz at baking, but she didn’t know the first thing about running a business. That didn’t seem to matter. She had the best team a person could hope for.
Bitsie lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her tiny bedroom in her tiny cottage. Everything about it was small, right down to the neat yard overflowing with rose bushes and the miniature vegetable patch in the back.
Her cat, Max, lay curled up at the end of her bed, resting against her feet like a giant fur-covered hot water bottle. She could hardly believe that it had only been a week since she’d moved out of the huge house she and Robert had built on a beautiful piece of land just outside of Tucson at the base of the Santa Catalina mountains. That house had been her dream home. On the day she and Robert had moved into that dream house nine years ago, Bitsie could never have imagined she’d have been happy to leave it and move back to her hometown of Little Creek, Arkansas.
When Bitsie had left Little Creek to go off to college, she had vowed that she’d never return, but here she was again. Life was funny that way, turning things around and making you do things you’d sworn you never would.
As Bitsie drifted off to sleep, she wondered if what her raspberry ripple cupcake recipe needed to be absolutely perfect might be a subtle hint of nutmeg.
Bitsie was jolted awake by the ringing of her phone. The clock on the nightstand read 3:10 AM.
“Who in the world could that be?” she asked Max. Max, never one to be excitable, merely opened one eye to look at her and then closed it again.
“Hello!”
“Bitsie?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Hector.”
Hector. Of course. Hector and Anabel would be at the shop starting the early morning bake, but what could have gone so wrong that he felt the need to call her up at three in the morning?
“Is something wrong?” Bitsie asked. She was sitting up in bed now, fully awake.
“Well—“
There was a long pause on Hector’s end. At the end of the bed, Max stood up and stretched luxuriously before turning a complete circle and lying down again.
“Are you ok?” Bitsie asked, “Has something happened to Anabel?”
“We’re both fine.”
“What’s happened?”
Maybe the kitchen had caught fire. Maybe someone had smashed the plate-glass windows at the front of the shop and cleaned them out down to the last crumb. Maybe—
“You’d better come down here,” said Hector. “The police are here. Liz and Stan are on their way. I figured you’d want them to come, seeing how new—”
“Why are the police—“
“One of the electricians is dead,” said Hector, his voice quavering.
Chapter Two
“I sort of know Marco—knew him,” Hector said. He’d been crying. “My wife knows the woman Marco was seeing. Her name is Jennifer. Jennifer and my wife went to high school together. Jennifer has had a very hard life. She’s been a widow twice.”
The ambulance had arrived before Bitsie got there, and Marco had already been loaded onto a stretcher, a sheet draped over his lifeless body. Bitsie was relieved that she’d arrived too late to see the condition of the poor man’s remains. What did an electrocuted person look like, anyway? Bitsie decided that she’d really rather not know. She didn’t deal well with trauma; she couldn’t even watch police procedurals on television without covering her ears and burying her face in a pillow when it came time for the scene where they find the body.
“I’m so sorry, Hector,” Bitsie said. “What happened, exactly?”
“The police keep calling it an accident,” Hector said, lowering his voice.
“Police?” Bitsie looked around for an officer, but there wasn’t one.
“Six of them showed up. Every man on duty in the town of Little Creek, I’m guessing. But they’ve all come and gone already,” said Anabel.
“I think one of them is still out front in his cruiser, waiting to follow the ambulance to take Marco to the hospital,” said Hector.
“Hospital?” Bitsie asked.
“They have to take him there so a doctor can sign off on a death certificate,” said a voice at her elbow. She turned around. It was her brother, Stan, looking every bit the retired police officer that he was.
“Has anyone notified his family?” Bitsie asked.
“They asked me to do it,” said Stan.
“I thought you retired last month,” said Bitsie.
“I’m still technically on the rolls as a reserve officer,” Stan explained, “so they can ask me to do stuff.”
“But you can say no, right?”
“Yeah, I could,” said Stan. “But some of the younger officers, they aren’t too good at things like this. It’s hard, you know. No matter how many times you’ve done it, it’s hard.”
Bitsie reached out to give her brother a big hug. He was such a good man. There were bad apples out there; people who went into law enforcement, so they could throw their weight around, but Stan was most certainly not one of those people.
“Who found Marco?” Bitsie asked as Stan walked out the door on his way to perform the sad duty of visiting Marco’s family and telling them the tragic news.
“Hector and I found him together,” said Anabel. “We came in the backdoor, like usual, but when we hit the switch the light wouldn’t come on—“
“It’s absolutely certain that he was electrocuted?” Bitsie asked.
“Yes,” said Anabel. “We used the flashlights on our cell phones to look around and found him on the floor next to the sink.” She pointed in the direction of the sink. On the wall next to the sink, where an outlet had been until quite recently, was an open receptacle box, wires hanging out.
“I can’t believe it,” Hector said. “Marco was a very careful worker. He was so careful that his crew was always teasing him—that’s what Danny said.“
“Danny?”
“The other electrician who was working here last night,” Hector answered.
“It was very late,” Anabel pointed out. “I know I make lots more mistakes when I get really tired.”
“But how did it happen?” Bitsie asked.
“He must have been replacing that outlet. It’s been broken for a long time. We haven’t used it in ages,” said Anabel.
“Marco was over there?” Bitsie asked, pointing to a spot next to the sink. There was a puddle of water on the floor. She was pretty sure that wasn’t normal.
“Where is the breaker box?” Bitsie asked.
“Back of the storage closet,” Anabel answered. “Hector called Danny, the guy who’d been working with Marco earlier in the evening, and Danny put things back together enough for it to be
safe to get the power turned back on. Danny’s the one who capped those wires off.”
Anabel pointed to the wires hanging out of the receptacle box next to the sink. The tip of each wire was now covered with a plastic wire nut.
“The wires were just bare when we came in and found him,” Anabel said.
“Show me the panel,” said Bitsie.
Bitsie, Hector, and Anabel stood in the storage room facing the electrical panel.
“See that big handle at the top?” Hector said.
But Bitsie wasn’t looking at the electrical panel. There was a crunching underfoot. She knelt down to take a closer look.
“What’s this?” she asked, picking up a shard of glass. She looked up at the wall. High up, near the ceiling, was a small wood-framed casement window, big enough for a man to get through, but just barely. One of the panes in the window was broken out, and the window was unlatched and swinging free on its hinges.
“Oh, that. I forgot to mention that,” said Anabel. “It looks like someone threw a rock through it.”
“But there’s no rock in here,” Bitsie pointed out.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Did the police take pictures of that, too?”
“I don’t know,” said Hector. “They didn’t seem to think it had anything to do with the accident.”
“I’ll get a broom and sweep up the glass,” said Anabel as Bitsie shrugged and turned her attention back to the electrical panel.
“That handle at the top is supposed to keep power from flowing to the rest of the panel,” said Hector. “It was turned off when we got here, but all the smaller breakers, the ones that feed the individual circuits, those were turned on.”
“Even the one that feeds the circuit for the outlet box Marco was working on?” Bitsie asked.
“Yes.”
“Danny swears that when he left at around two, the main breaker was turned on. It’d have to have been turned on for them to have had light in here, but Danny swears up and down that the power to that outlet circuit was switched off. He said he couldn’t imagine Marco turning it back on, so he’d end up working with live wires.”
