She’d then Facebook messaged all her friends, and some old friends from school, just wishing them well and asking them how they were.
Then a few days later, they’d headed back to Toby Georgiou’s. Fran wanted to say how sorry she was for accusing him. He actually found the whole thing funny, and it turned out, he’d had his own revelation since the roof terrace incident.
“You know my so-called little secret,” he’d told Fran, no longer looking surly or shy or uncomfortable. In fact, he looked totally comfortable with himself, beaming from ear to ear. “It wasn’t that I was a killer; it was that I’m gay. And I’ve decided, even if I lose my career or alienate people, I shouldn’t be afraid of it coming out. It’s the truth, after all.”
Fran was glad he was looking so much more confident in himself. And when it came to Percy, and Toby’s sophisticated cat who was suitably called Lucienne, there was no separating them. They sat together, and Percy let Lucienne press her paws on him. Normally he’d have gone crazy if anyone did that, but he obviously had a soft spot for the female feline.
And when it came to Matt…
“Hello, ladies.”
Fran felt that nice dipping sensation in her chest, like her heart was softening, when she heard his voice. She turned around to see him in the doorway, and she burst out laughing. Matt was in a Hercules outfit, and looked rather handsome, but also absolutely ridiculous. He’d even curled his hair back on his scalp, and wore white robes and gold gladiator sandals. The hot summer had already bronzed his skin, and he looked quite the Greek hero. A wreath of gold sat upon his head, which was probably what made him look a bit silly.
“Wow,” Waverly said, entranced. “Are you really Matt?”
Emily laughed. “Wow indeed. You’ve made quite the effort.”
Matt shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Well, Olly’s always taken a bit of a shine to me. Only made sense for me to put some effort in.”
Fran, who herself had not dressed in a superhero outfit—most of the adults hadn’t, with only Olly’s dad and Matt bucking the trend—went over to him. “Well, hello, Hercules,” she said. “Or should I say white-toga-and-gold-sandals-guy.”
“Well, that’s a lot better than prissy-doesn’t-want-to-mess-up-his-jacket guy.”
“I’ll say,” Emily said with a laugh.
“Come on! Come on!” The little version of Spiderman came barreling through the kitchen. “The party’s starting! The party’s starting!” His voice was exploding with excitement, and Fran couldn’t help but laugh with happiness. Oliver grabbed her hand. “Come on, Fran! Let’s save the day!” Then he stopped dead in front of Matt. He looked so concerned and suspicious that Emily and Fran burst out laughing. “And who are you?” he asked Matt, folding his arms across his chest.
Matt puffed up his chest. “Hello, Spiderman. I’m Hercules, the strongest man in Ancient Greece, and I’ve come to say Happy Birthday!”
“Hmm,” little Spiderman said. Then he beckoned Fran to come down to his level, crooking his finger and looking a little uncertain. Fran bent down and Oliver whispered in her ear, “Is that a real superhero?”
Fran nodded. “Yep,” she whispered back. “For sure.”
Oliver nodded along, satisfied. “All right,” he said grandly to Matt. “Since you’re a superhero, you can stay.”
Fran saw trouble up ahead, since none of the other adults had dressed up. “What about me, Olly? I’m not a superhero. Can I still stay?”
Oliver paused for a minute, his finger on his lip. “You are a superhero, silly. You’re the special party-putter-on superhero!” Then he grabbed her around the waist and squeezed her tight in a hug. Moments later, he was zooming back out, saying, “Party! Party! Party!”
Everyone laughed in the most affectionate way. Looking between her long-time friend Emily, Waverly, the little girl who had started her career and whom she had come to care so much about, and Matt, whose gray-flecked eyes made her feel weak at the knees, she felt so deeply satisfied. She was there in that moment, doing what really mattered to her, with people she had come to love.
Though she knew she was going to help Matt with putting on another party for the boutique hotel, only as an assistant since she knew she didn’t have the experience yet, she didn’t know quite what was in the future.
But that was okay.
What she knew was, in that moment, standing there in the kitchen, ready to put on a party for the bravest boy in the world, surrounded by people she cared deeply about, she was where she was meant to be.
Thanks for reading Murder in the Park. I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, it would be awesome if you left a review for me on Amazon and/or Goodreads.
If you would like to know about future cozy mysteries by me and the other authors at Fairfield Publishing, make sure to sign up for our Cozy Mystery Newsletter. We will send you our FREE Cozy Mystery Starter Library just for signing up. All the details are on the next page.
At the end of the book, I have included a preview of a book from my friend Stacey Alabaster, A Pie to Die For. It’s part of the popular Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery series. It’s available on Amazon at:
FairfieldPublishing.com/pie-to-die-for
I’m also including a preview of the first cozy mystery from my friend Miles Lancaster, Murder in the Mountains. I really hope you like it!
FairfieldPublishing.com/murder-in-mountains
FAIRFIELD COZY MYSTERY NEWSLETTER
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After you sign up to get your Free Starter Library, turn the page and check out the free previews :)
Preview: A Pie to Die For
"But you don't understand, I use only the finest, organic ingredients." My voice was high-pitched as I pleaded my case to the policeman. Oh, this was just like an episode of Criminal Point. Hey, I wondered who the killer turned out to be. I shook my head. That's not important, Rachael, I scolded myself. What's important is getting yourself off this murder charge. Still, I hoped Pippa had recorded the ending of the episode.
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 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.
FairfieldPublishing.com/cozy-newsletter/
Make sure you turn to the next page for the preview of Murder in the Mountains.
FairfieldPublishing.com/pie-to-die-for
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. Reddish 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 h
ad 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.”
Murder in the Park (Fran Finch Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 13
