Murder and Marshmallows
A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 15
Rosie A. Point
Contents
Meet the Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
More for you…
Thank you, Reader!
Copyright Rosie A. Point 2020.
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Meet the Characters
Ruby Holmes—Once an investigative journalist, Ruby escaped her only life by starting the Bite-sized Bakery food truck. A traveling truck that enabled her to get away from her past. She was ghosted by her fiancé and never quite got over it. Sometimes squeamish, often kind, and with a keen mind. She’ll solve any case you put in front of her these days.
Beatrice Pine—She prefers to be called Bee, thank you very much. Bee is an ex-police officer and an absolute whizz in the kitchen. A master baker, she’s the one responsible for the amazing treats on the food truck. She can be quite harsh and says things bluntly, but she has a heart of gold.
Jamie Hanson—Ruby’s boyfriend. He wants what’s best for the women but can sometimes be a bit overbearing because he’s so eager to be a part of Ruby’s life. He used to be a detective but inherited a lot of money from his grandmother. Funny, smart, and handsome.
Eleanor Sharpe—The owner of the Squeezed Grape Guesthouse. She’s always happy to have new guests, even if they’re a little bit stranger than the ones she’s used to.
Detective Boyd—Always a little bit sweaty, he’s the local detective working a new murder case in small town, Grapefield, New York. Easily flustered but doing his best.
Henry Hughes—A local baker in town who was infamous for his arguments with just about anybody who so much as looked in his direction. He can’t stand outsiders and likes to cause trouble. Henry believes that he’s the best baker to grace the planet with his presence.
Sherry Hughes—Henry’s wife who hardly ever speaks to him. She dresses in designer clothes and drives a fancy car, but where does all her money come from? Surely, the baking business can’t be going that well.
Carl Anthony—The butcher who likes to befriend everybody. A massive gossip, but a nicer man couldn’t be found in Grapefield. He’s so nice, he might just be suspicious.
Miranda Anthony—The butcher’s wife. She’s blonde, middle-aged, and likes to exercise. But she’s terminally unhappy in her marriage.
Lyle Grace—A talented glassblower who creates gorgeous pieces at his glassblowing emporium in town. A bit yellow-bellied, but well-meaning, nevertheless. He surely wouldn’t hurt a fly. Or would he?
Horatio Stinson—The pool boy for the Hughes family. He’s always meddling in their business and appears to have sticky, thieving fingers. Dark hair, pale skin, but very handsome. He accompanies Sherry everywhere nowadays.
1
“Let’s hope nobody gets murdered this time,” Bee said, flashing me one of her signature gap-toothed grins.
“Hardly the most positive sentiment for the start of our vacation.” I steered the food truck down Grapefield’s paved main road, checking that Jamie’s Porsche was still following us.
“It’s a getaway,” Bee replied. “And you know I’m a realist.”
I laughed. “It’s a pretty town. You never know, Bee, we might end up staying here for longer than a week. Wouldn’t want to upset the locals, right?”
“I’ll reserve judgement.” Bee scanned the cute stores lining the street. It was early in the morning so most of them were still closed, but a few owners had emerged to put out clapboard signs outside their front doors.
One of them, a grocery store owner with ginger hair, glared at the food truck as it passed him by. Eek. Hopefully, the people in this town would be as accepting as they had been in Prattlebark Village.
Gosh, it was strange to have left that place, but it had probably been the right time to go. We’d made enemies with the most popular woman in town, after all. One didn’t cross Francescan and hang around to experience the wrathful aftermath.
“OK, so the guesthouse is a couple blocks from here,” I said, glancing at the screen bearing the directions on the truck’s dashboard. “But Jamie said that check-in time is only after ten, so we should probably stop for some food first, and—”
“Uh, Ruby?”
“Yeah?”
“There are people following us.”
I frowned and checked the mirror.
Bee was, shockingly, right. People walked behind us—some of them wearing aprons, others in regular clothes. The redheaded guy who’d stared us down was among them. They marched just ahead of Jamie’s Porsche.
“Uh…” I was at a loss for words.
We’d been going at a snail’s pace, enjoying the sights and sounds of a new small town—that had given the folks following plenty of time to catch up.
“It’s like a small-town zombie apocalypse,” Bee said, drily.
“What could they possibly want?”
“Brains.”
“Bee.”
“Maybe it’s a welcome parade. Like a town tradition. Without the streamers or smiles.”
Bee was right on the last point. None of the townsfolk following the truck were smiling.
Jamie honked his horn to get them to clear out of the road, but it didn’t work. The people kept pace with the truck—and I didn’t want to speed up in case we got separated from my boyfriend. He didn’t need directions since he was the one who had organized everything, but I didn’t want to leave him in case this strange behavior from the locals turned hostile.
“Are they mad about us being here?” I asked.
“Can’t be. They don’t know us.” Bee tapped her chin. “Weird. They’re not brandishing sticks or anything.”
And so, we continued down the road, trailed by the crowd. The further we drove, the bigger the group became. Cars joined in behind Jamie’s, creating a long train that clogged up traffic.
“This is getting out of hand,” Bee said, pursing her lips. “How much further?”
“It’s just up ahead.”
I steered the truck around a bend in the road and arrived outside a double story guesthouse—no gates or fences out front but with a section for parking instead. The guesthouse was a wood building with a red roof. It had doors with latticed glass windows, and was styled like an old farmhouse with white windowsills and a sweeping lawn that reached from the parking area up to the front steps.
I parked the truck in an empty spot and the crowd of followers stopped outside it. I half-expected them to start clamoring over the hood or trying to tip us over, but nothing happened—no commotion, just the dull hum of people talking.
“They’re… good heavens.” Bee snorted a laugh. “Ruby, they’re forming lines outside the side window. They want us to serve them.”
We exited the food truck, just as Jamie parked his shimmering Porsche in the space beside it. He emerged from its leather interior, pulling sunglasses from his face, his expression bemused. “So many customers already?”
I cleared my throat, color creeping up my throat. “Excuse me, everyone,” I said. “Excuse
me.”
The crowd quieted—a shifting of bodies and a whisper here or there.
“Sorry,” I said, the heat reaching my cheeks, “but we’re not here to serve baked goods. Just to have a vacation.”
A collective groan rose from the people outside the truck.
“Sorry. Sorry,” I repeated.
Jamie grabbed his bags from the Porsche and ours from the truck while the townsfolk slowly dissipated—though a few of them hung back. Maybe they thought we’d change our minds?
“They wanted food,” Bee said, slowly. “How strange. Surely, there are other cafés or restaurants in town.”
“We passed a few,” I replied.
“Good.” Jamie joined us on the sidewalk. “Because I was planning on taking you both out to dinner tonight. Apparently, this guesthouse serves a delicious lunch.”
My stomach grumbled. It was still early, and we hadn’t even had breakfast yet, let alone the other meals.
I turned toward the Squeezed Grape Guesthouse and we started up the dirt path that wound across the grass toward the steps.
“It’s not check-in time yet, Jamie,” I called. “We should probably leave the bags in the car.”
The door swung open and a woman wearing a pair of jeans and a checked shirt emerged, tying her hair into a ponytail. She was in her forties, with wrinkles around her eyes. “Hello there,” she said. “You must be Jamie.”
Jamie shook her hand. “This is my girlfriend, Ruby, and my friend, Bee.”
“Nice to meet you all.”
Bee and I nodded to her.
“Welcome to the Squeezed Grape,” she said, gesturing to the guesthouse. “My name’s Eleanor, and it’s a pleasure to have you here. You’re a little early, but that’s no problem. Come on inside.” She opened the door then grabbed some of our bags and carted them in.
A young man, her assistant I assumed, met her at the front desk and helped with the suitcases.
“I see you had an entourage this morning,” Eleanor said, smiling warmly. “Thanks, Ted.” She shot that at the bellboy. “They’re in rooms, four, five, and six.”
“Yeah,” Bee said. “What was that about?”
“It looked like half the town followed us from Main Street,” I put in, leaning against Jamie—he’d slipped his arm around my waist.
“People like sweet stuff around here,” Eleanor replied, tucking her hands into her jean pockets. “And until about a week ago, we had a single operational bakery that made a killing.”
“What happened to it?” I asked.
“Closed because of a health code violation.” Eleanor hesitated. “Are you planning on selling baked goods in town?”
“No,” I said, quickly. “It’s just a vacation for us.”
“Oh. Pity. Well, let’s get you settled in, shall we?” Our hostess proceeded behind the reception desk. “Breakfast will be served at 9am, if you can wait a little while? We do have a coffee bar in the dining area with a few cookies laid out, though.”
“That sounds great,” Jamie said, releasing me and coming forward to get everything organized.
“We’re glad to have you in town,” Eleanor said. “There’s a lot to do out here, though you wouldn’t think it. A car show too.”
“Car show?” Jamie perked up.
“Yes. And an exhibition at the local museum. I have all the brochures here for you to check out,” she said.
“We’ll be sure to look,” I replied. “Thank you.”
The inside of the guesthouse smelled of polished wood, baking cookies, and books. I loved the aesthetic, but I couldn’t help glancing back through the front doors at the truck outside. There were a few stragglers.
What a strange town.
Hopefully, the strangeness would cease here. We didn’t need more trouble on our hands, especially not during our vacation.
2
A quick coffee break was exactly what we needed, and after checking out our rooms—with neat four-poster beds, a coffee table, armchairs, and a bookcase a piece—it was already time for breakfast.
We headed to the well-lit dining room at the front of the guesthouse and took our places at a table right in front of the windows that looked out on the sweeping lawn and now empty parking area.
“Looks like the locals have given up hope,” Bee said, stifling a yawn. Coffee always made her sleepy. One of my best friend’s many idiosyncrasies.
“For now,” Jamie said. “You two had better make sure nobody gets a taste of one of your donuts or those marshmallow cupcakes. If they do, they’ll probably follow us out of town.”
I laughed. “I’m almost tempted to open up shop. But I won’t. This is strictly a fun trip. Bee’s done enough work for five bakers in the last year.”
“It’s not work if you love it,” Bee said, and yawned again. “But I do need a break. Just for a little while.”
A server, wearing a Squeezed Grape Guesthouse apron in burgundy, walked up to the table. “Good morning, ladies. Sir,” he said, performing a sweeping bow. “My name is Michael, and I’ll be serving you today.”
“Do you have a regular menu here or is it more of a buffet situation?” Bee asked.
“We have a buffet,” Michael said, “but I’m here to serve you drinks and answer any questions you might have about our selection.”
“Awesome,” Jamie replied.
We ordered milkshakes, two strawberries and one chocolate, then went to check out the food selection on display.
“What a spread.” Jamie grabbed three plates for us and handed them out.
There was everything imaginable, from freshly fried bacon and eggs, to parfait, granola, fresh fruit and cheeses, croissants, toast, butter, and even an omelet station where one of the chefs at the guesthouse waited for orders.
I opted for an omelet—ham, cheese, and mushrooms—while Bee plated up a croissant with cheese and hot sauce, and Jamie got fried eggs and bacon.
The meal was delicious, filling and exactly what we’d needed after the long drive down here. Afterward, Bee sat back rubbing her belly and dozing in her chair despite the bright light filtering in from outside.
“What do you say we go hiking?” Jamie asked, dabbing his lips with a folded napkin.
Bee cracked one bleary eye. “Have you lost your marbles, Hanson? Hiking? After that drive?”
“If we sleep now, we’ll mess up our schedule,” Jamie said. “Besides, there’s a trail near the guesthouse. It tracks through the woods, and its not too challenging according to my research.”
“I’ll happily mess up my schedule.” Bee closed the eye again. “I’m on vacation.”
“Suit yourself. What about you, Ruby? Care for a walk on the wild side?”
Not my favorite turn of phrase. In my experience, the wild side consisted of murderers and investigations. “Sure,” I said. “Why not?” I’d driven the food truck all the way down here, but I wasn’t as exhausted as Bee.
Besides, a walk out in nature would be invigorating. A nice change after the time spent sitting in the truck.
“I see why you two are dating now,” Bee said, and slurped the last of her milkshake from its paper straw. “You’re both certifiable.”
“Love you too, Bee.”
She was already halfway to the dining room’s door, the floorboards of the farm-style guesthouse creaking underfoot. She waved over her shoulder at us.
“There’s just one problem with our hiking plan,” I said, turning to Jamie and trying not to get butterflies. Sometimes, his good looks and warm smile caught me off-guard.
“What’s that, m’dear?”
“I don’t have any hiking boots.”
“I’ve got you covered. I bought some for you already. They’re in the Porsche.”
“You think of everything,” I sighed. “All right. I’m in. Let’s check out this hiking trail.”
Jamie and I thanked our hostess for a fantastic breakfast before heading to our rooms to change into appropriate attire for the hike. I hoped he
was serious about it being an easy trail—I’d only been hiking a couple of times before, and that was before I’d spent a year on a food truck devouring every spare cupcake in sight.
I met Jamie out at the Porsche where he handed me a pair of hiking shoes, a backpack full of supplies, and a water bottle.
“You really wanted to hike,” I said. “Sheesh.”
“I like the outdoors.”
We headed out to the trail—an entry point into a fenced off area, flanked by a sign declaring it as the Grapefield Nature Preserve—and set off through the trees.
The going was easy. A clear pathway between the trees, dirt that had been trodden down by many different hiking boots over years of use. I slipped my hand into Jamie’s, and we walked at a leisurely pace.
“It’s beautiful here,” I said. “I’m glad we came.”
“Me too.” Jamie smiled. “Anything to get you two away from the murder, mystery, and intrigue.”
“It’s not like we’re actively seeking it out or anything.”
“Are you sure? Because you stumble upon dead bodies at an alarming rate,” Jamie said. “If I was a believer in fate, I’d say that you were meant to do this.”
“You’re not a believer in fate?” I asked.
Jamie shrugged, and we rounded a bend in the trail, catching sight of a distant hiker up ahead. They disappeared between the trees. Birds chirped and a gentle breeze brushed the branches overhead.
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