Murder Train
A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery
Stacey Alabaster
Fairfield Publishing
Contents
Copyright
Message to Readers
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
Thank You!
Copyright © 2017 Fairfield Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
Pippa held a bright colored object—was it a cookie?—in the air with a proud look on her face. "Look at this amazing creation!"
I frowned at it from the other side of the bakery, where I was trying to read during a quiet moment in the afternoon. "Did your seven-month-old baby make that?"
She stuck her tongue out at me. "No, I did."
"I can't even tell what it is..."
"Don't you think we should sell these beautiful creations in the shop?" Pippa asked.
Pippa's hair was blue this month. The cookie she was waving around was green.
"That does not look appetizing."
"It's not for appetites. It's for luck."
I squinted at the item. Oh, right. It was a four leaf clover.
St Patrick’s Day and Pippa's birthday were both next week. Pippa's a Pisces and her parents are Irish, so she calls this week her 'lucky week.'
"Don't you think the four leaf clover is a bit much, though?" I asked. Not to mention a bit green. Green food was never a big seller. "I mean, they aren't actually lucky."
But she just kept spinning it round. "No way! Do you know how rare these things are? I mean, in nature form, not in cookie form."
"Not really..." I was trying to read my magazine. We were going through a busy patch and it was a very rare opportunity for me to put my feet up.
"It's one in ten thousand," Pippa said in a meaningful way. I knew I was supposed to be impressed by this statistic.
But instead, I was skeptical. "That doesn't seem right."
She grabbed her laptop from behind the front counter and opened it up with such force that she almost snapped the screen right off.
Once she'd found what she was looking for, she carried it over for me to look at. "See? I was right."
It was just the internet. It could very well be wrong. How do they even calculate that anyway? Did someone go out and count every single clover?
I kept those thoughts to myself, though. People don't like to be told that they’re wrong, especially when they are certain they are right.
Saved by the bell. Or at least, the jingle of the front door bell—another rush of customers came through the door, and I quickly hid Pippa's mold-colored cookie out of sight.
I counted the money from the morning's takings. "I think this is an all time record," I said, before stashing it in the safety deposit box.
Pippa took this opportunity to jump in with her theory. "Be honest, Rachael, you've got to believe in luck. You're going to turn a record profit this quarter, and part of that is due to some very lucky things happening in your favor. Bakermatic closed down, which was luck."
Was it?
I wondered if she had forgotten about the very bad luck of having to replace the carpeting and floorboards after her husband burst a pipe. Having to close for a week wasn't exactly 'lucky.'
Still, she kinda had a point. Running an independent bakery was not easy business, and the chance of one succeeding past its first year was very low. Maybe I had gotten lucky.
I glanced around the bakery and smiled in satisfaction. Hey, if I was lucky, then maybe I should just enjoy it.
But in this business, you can never rely on your luck lasting for too long.
My first clue that something was up was the following day when I went to the bank to deposit my takings for the week and the bank teller cringed when she counted the money and put it away for me. "I suppose it will be nice while it lasts, right? Make hay and all that."
"Right," I said a little uncertainly as I left, wondering what on earth that was all about.
The second was when a regular customer of mine, Rebecca, came in and ordered the same thing she always did—a cinnamon donut. She worked in an office and told me she needed the sugar hit every morning before she started work. She usually had a little joke or comment for me, but on this morning, she looked sullen as she ordered the donut and fished through her purse for coins.
"Geez, Rachael, I'm really sorry."
"Sorry about what?" I asked her as I placed the donut in a white paper bag and handed it to her. I racked my brains trying to think of a single reason anyone could have for feeling sorry for me.
She averted her eyes from mine. "Oh, erm, nothing. Hey, are these a new recipe?" she said, taking a nibble from the donut.
Something was definitely up. "Not a new recipe, no. Rebecca, what are you talking about?"
"Oh gosh, okay. I suppose you haven't heard."
"Heard what?"
She gulped. "There's a new large chain bakery opening up in town. One of the most popular chains in the country."
I hated being the last person to know, especially when things concerned me so gravely.
But I shook my head and laughed. "Bakermatic closed down last year. They won't be reopening again after what happened. I think you're mistaken."
"No, not Bakermatic..." She frowned. "No, that's not the name of the chain. Oh, what's the name of it again?" She tapped her long red nails against the coffee cup. "It's The Pastry Tree."
I gulped. Tried to swallow my shock, or at least not show it. The Pastry Tree was an even bigger chain than Bakermatic. And they were a lot hipper as well. They'd started out small and boutique with artisanal cakes and pastries and after gaining a cult following, they had quickly expanded. Not that I followed the stock markets that closely, but I was pretty sure that last quarter they reached a record high for shareholders. Just like I did. I mean, I didn't have shareholders. But I'd had a record high.
But Pastry Tree stores were only found in big cities.
I shook my head and started to stack the coffee cups sitting on top of the machine. I knocked the pile over.
"No," I said, trying to sound dismissive. Trying to feel dismissive. "They wouldn't open a store here. Belldale is too tiny! What would they want with this town?"
"I hate to break it to you, Rachael, but they've already put in the application for a permit. My husband is on the council. They are opening in Belldale, whether you like it or not."
I kept the news to myself for two days. Partly because I didn't want to alarm anyone, but mostly because speaking the news out loud was only going to stress me out. And it was only going to make it more real.
But after I'd faced down the hundredth pity-stare and averted gaze for the week, I'd had enough.
Our luck was changing. Fast. I had to do something about
it.
And I needed back up.
"Pippa!" I called out, searching for her in the bakery kitchen.
I found her in my office, with her baby daughter Lolly sitting in a high chair, while Pippa did the 'here comes the choo-choo train' with a dollop of mush sitting on the end of a pink spoon. Lolly had only just started eating solids. Pippa was very excited.
"Look, Rachael, she's loving this pear puree you made for her..."
"That's great."
I didn't mean to sound so dismissive. I just had far bigger things on my mind than pear puree.
"Pippa, The Pastry Tree is opening a store in Belldale."
Pippa dropped the spoon. Pear puree splashed up onto Lolly's face and she giggled, grabbing at her face and shoving the bits of puree she found into her mouth. She really did love it.
Pippa stood up.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded. "This is going to be the end of us."
Pippa shook her head. "Maybe it won't be close enough to us to affect business."
"Of course it will be close enough to us. Belldale is tiny." This was no big city, where you could hop on a train, travel for thirty minutes, and still be in the same city. We didn't even have a train line in Belldale, or at least not one that was contained and stopped at multiple stations in town. There was one station. And there was only one train you could catch, and that was to leave the town.
"Maybe it won't be so bad," Pippa said. "Maybe our customers won't even buy from them."
"People love The Pastry Tree. It's the first place I go when I am in the city," I said. "And they have the exact same clientele," I said, slumping down into my office chair. "They basically ARE us Pippa, just with corporate money behind them."
"Yes, but this isn't a city," Pippa said sagely. "And I have a feeling that the fine citizens of Belldale will object to another big chain coming to town. They'll protest it. You might not have a thing to worry about, Rachael. Let the people of the town take care of this for you."
One month later.
My boyfriend Kenneth and I squeezed into two seats in the back row. "I've never been to one of these things before," I said, looking around at the room of people, some of whom were familiar but a lot of whom were strangers. Shouldn't I have known the faces of the people I shared a town with?
"I've never been to a town meeting before either," Kenneth whispered as he picked up the itinerary off of the seat and glanced over it. "I didn't even know that Belldale had town meetings."
I could barely concentrate on the rest of the town business we had to trudge through before we got to the only thing on the itinerary I was actually interested in. The outcome of the petition. People stood up and talked about pot holes, and parking spaces, and plans for a new park in the center of town, but I couldn't concentrate on any of it. I was tapping my feet nervously. "Why are you so nervous? The petition will have worked. Everyone in town will have signed it."
Would they have, though? I just stared at Kenneth.
"You're the kind of person who eats at The Pastry Tree."
"I'm the kind of person who eats at your bakery," Kenneth said, squeezing my hand.
Finally, it was time. The speaker for the night, a burly guy called Garry, cleared his throat. "Now, I know that some of you put forth a petition to halt the opening of a new town store, under the concern that big companies invading the town like this would be bad for local businesses." He stopped talking and looked down at the piece of paper in front of him. "There were not enough signatures on the petition."
Not enough signatures on the petition?
I felt like I was about to explode.
"The Pastry Tree intends to open here in two months’ time."
So that was that then. The petition we had started had failed.
There were a few groans in the crowd, but there were also a few little excited 'woos.' I couldn't help feeling a little betrayed by them. Okay, make that a lot betrayed. Not enough signatures?
Kenneth squeezed my hand again. "Don't let them get to you."
"Those woos are from the people who are going to shop at The Pastry Tree and never come into my bakery ever again."
We didn't usually drink on the premises, but Pippa popped opened the bottle of champagne we'd naively purchased when we'd assumed that the outcome was going to go our way.
I supposed it was pity champagne now. Pippa filled up my glass and I chugged it down.
"We're done, Pippa. Let's just...try and sell now while we've still GOT something to sell."
I thought she was going to look appalled at the situation, but she kinda just shrugged a little and said, "Maybe that's not such a bad thought."
Great. When my super optimistic best friend—the one who thought that anything is possible, the one who carried a four leaf clover in her pocket for good luck—thought we were screwed, it really was time to throw in the towel.
Pippa excused herself so she could call her husband Marcello to make sure Lolly was okay, and eating all her puree.
It was just me on my own, with my thoughts.
My phone rang. The area code showed it was from somewhere upstate. I pressed reject call. Probably a telemarketer. No one local, no one I actually knew. I poured myself another flute of champagne and chugged it again, starting to get quite a bit of a buzz on.
Maybe I'll sell up and get a little cottage out in the middle of nowhere. Away from society. Away from small towns where the people, who you think you can trust, stab you in the back.
The phone rang again. I rejected it again. Not in the mood.
But whoever it was, they were persistent. Five minutes later, the number flashed up on my screen again.
I answered, ready to give my, "Thanks, but I'm not interested" spiel.
"Hello, Miss Robinson?" It was a cheery female voice on the other end.
I was still ready to hang up. "I'm sorry, it's just that I'm busy and I've had an awfully long day..."
"My name is Cheryl Spellman. I'm calling from the head offices of The Pastry Tree."
I stopped. I was confused. Had our petition actually worked after all? And how did she get my number? And why the heck did she want to talk to me?
In my half-tipsy state, I was just about ready to tell her where she could shove her franchise and her plans to open in Belldale.
But she got her words out first while I was too busy trying to think of something both witty and brutal to hit her with.
"We hear some very good things about your bakery, Rachael. Impressive things, actually."
I could feel my blood pressure rising. What kind of game was she trying to play?
"Well, that's because my bakery is the most popular place to eat in Belldale!" A bit of an exaggeration, but I was close to being drunk and I wanted to put her in her place. Let her know what she was up against if she opened up shop in my town.
"That's fantastic to hear," Cheryl said.
Great. Right, so she really was playing a game. Time to hang up.
"I don't think we should be speaking," I said. "I think it is a conflict of interest. Probably." My head was spinning a little bit. "And even if it's not, well, I think it's very cruel of you to call me just to gloat."
"Gloat?" Cheryl asked.
"Gloat about opening a store in Belldale and effectively ruining me. That is why you're calling me, isn't it? To stick the knife in and twist it round in my guts..." I had more to say, but Cheryl interrupted me with her chipper voice.
"I think you're misunderstanding, Rachael," Cheryl said. "I didn't call to gloat. And I also think you've misunderstood our intentions in your town."
Oh boy, my head was way too hazy to process what she was trying to say. "How have I misunderstood? You're going to come here and cannibalize all the other small businesses by opening up some fancy new store!"
"Miss Robinson. We are not opening a new store in Belldale. We intend to buy an existing store. We want to buy your bakery."
Chapter 2
The train was delayed
. Luckily, I'd insisted we leave early for the two-hour trip to the city. An announcement came over the loudspeaker of the platform, telling us that they would get things moving again as soon as possible.
"Hey, that voice sounds really familiar," I said, trying to place it.
Pippa shrugged. She hadn't really been listening to the announcement; she had her iPod and was listening to a podcast while we waited.
"Do we look ridiculous?" I asked, a little uncertainly. I'd only worn the suit I had on one time before, and that was when I went to the bank for a loan. Now, again, I was trying to bail my business out of trouble. Only I was thinking about accepting money from someplace far more devious than a bank—it was a corporation.
I just wasn't sure I was doing the right thing.
"No, of course not. We're just not used to seeing ourselves like this, that's all," Pippa tried to reassure me. "Normally you've got on an apron, or I've got on mommy clothes."
I let out a heavy sigh. "Pippa, if we do this, everyone in town is going to hate us."
"It's only a meeting," Pippa pointed out. She was right. Still, it seemed a little like betrayal to even hop on a train to the city. A betrayal not only to the other business owners and the people who'd signed the petition, but a betrayal to the bakery I'd worked so hard to start and grow.
"Besides," Pippa said. "Just as many people will hate you if you reject the offer and don't allow The Pastry Tree to take over your bakery."
"Well, that's a little offensive."
We were traipsing our way down the platform, trying to find the right place to board for the third class section of the train. Pippa considered what I'd said. "Yes, okay, I can see how that would have sounded offensive. But you know what I mean."
Trains only ran once per hour at the best of times and were now running twenty minutes late. But at least that was all it was. It could have been a lot worse. We'd gotten lucky.
Murder Train: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Page 1
