Pumpkins are Murder
A Bee’s Bakehouse Cozy Mystery
Kathy Cranston
Copyright © 2017 by Kathy Cranston
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Click here to subscribe to Kathy’s newsletter and receive updates on new releases and special offers!
Other Bee’s Bakehouse mysteries:
Baking is Murder
Knitting is Murder
Parties are Murder
Football is Murder
Cruises are Murder
Mistletoe is Murder
Weddings are Murder
Fiona McCabe Mysteries:
Apple Seeds and Murderous Deeds
Full Irish Murder
Four Weddings and a Murder
Contents
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
1
“Jessie! You’re a sight for sore eyes!”
Jessie Henderson shook her head and tried to focus for long enough to come up with a coherent sentence. She had been up for most of the night working on her latest business venture—one that she had been thrown into involuntarily.
“Hi, Chief,” she smiled, pulling out the stool beside him at the counter and then thinking better of it. Her legs felt like they might not carry her for very much longer, so it didn’t seem advisable to sit on a seat without a back. Her bed would be preferable, but she had promised her aunt that she’d help out at the café for the morning rush.
He seemed to sense her exhaustion. “Come on, honey. Go sit in the corner and I’ll bring you a coffee.”
She smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Chief.”
“Oh come on, Jessie,” he said, in a mock-scolding tone. “When are you going to call me Charles? Especially now that we’re family.”
She frowned. Was it just her imagination, or was he being nicer than usual? “Something’s going on,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been on the job since six this morning, am I right? So why are you offering to get me coffee? And that family stuff? You’re usually complaining about how you’ve married into a family of madwomen.”
“Because you look tired. I know you’ve been working half the night over at Lindemann’s. I’ll get you that coffee, huh?”
She watched him walk to the counter and chat to Martin who glanced at Jessie before quickly turning away.
Is the exhaustion making me paranoid? she wondered, shaking her head. Martin and the chief were the nicest guys you could meet—what exactly did she think they were up to?
She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, daydreaming about taking a warm bath and then going to bed.
Things should calm down here by two, she thought. I’ll go home then if Martin and Aunt Bee have everything under control.
She looked around and saw her aunt emerging from the kitchen at the back. She was just about to wave when Bee spotted her. A strange hunted look crossed her aunt’s face and she disappeared back into the kitchen.
Jessie frowned. She was now in no doubt that something strange was going on.
She was about to go investigate when the door flew open. That wouldn’t normally give her cause for concern: Bee’s Bakehouse was a popular place, especially at that time in the morning. But their customers didn’t usually throw the door open with such force that the windows shuddered in their panes.
Jessie automatically looked outside and was relieved to see the sudden noise hadn’t scared her pug, Toby. She had never felt good about leaving him outside, so she had been delighted to see signs advertising a new doggy daycare that was opening soon.
Satisfied that Toby was fine, she stood and made her way to the counter to have a word with Albie Parker, the local bank manager, about his noisy entrance.
Jeff Morton got to him before she could. She liked Jeff—he’d been helping out with her revamp of the café’s website. He was usually a mild-mannered man, but he seemed rattled that day.
“You’re a disgrace!” he cried, causing Martin to drop the coffee he had started making for the bank manager.
“Oh now look what you’ve done!” Albie Parker exclaimed, apparently more worried about the coffee than he was about the other man’s words.
Jessie moved behind the counter. “It’s okay, Martin. I can take care of this if you want to take a break.”
He turned and seemed about to object.
“Owner’s privilege,” Jessie said. “I insist.”
He smiled gratefully and hurried back toward the kitchen.
Albie was staring pointedly at the coffee machine while Jeff unleashed a barrage of abuse in his direction. The chief must have gone to the bathroom because he was nowhere to be seen.
Still, Jessie was more than happy to deal with the situation without backup—she wasn’t going to tolerate behavior like this in her café.
“Excuse me,” she said, clearing her throat and glaring at them both. “What seems to be the problem here?”
Albie pursed his lips. “The problem is two-fold as I see it. Firstly, this fool insists on abusing me. Secondly, your clumsy staff member dropped my beverage. As a result, I have to spend more time away from my work than I’d like. I ought to bill you for my time.”
Jessie stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. “I should bill you for wasting mine. The cup slipped out of Martin’s hand. That probably wouldn’t have happened if you two hadn’t been arguing like children. And as for your entrance—do you really need to throw the door open like that? It’s unnecessary. You’re lucky it didn’t scare my dog.”
“You tell him, Jessie!”
“I’m not trying to take sides here, Jeff. I’m just trying to maintain order in my café.”
Now it was Jeff’s turn to look askance. “Trust me, Jessie. You wouldn’t say that if you knew what he’s been up to. Do you know I received a letter this morning threatening me with foreclosure? I don’t know who this man thinks he is, but he clearly doesn’t know what it takes to run a bank in a place like Springdale if—”
“Enough!” Albie roared, causing all of the customers to turn and stare in their direction. “You’re calling me a monster for acting in the interests of the bank. Your payment was late this month!”
Jeff flushed bright pink. “There’s no need to announce that in front of the whole town! I told you. I’m trying to get my homeopathy business off the ground. All I asked for was a few more weeks to come up with the money. You know I have some big checks due soon from my web development business.”
“And what then?” the bank manager sneered, before quickly glancing back at Jessie. “Where’s my coffee? I paid
you for a coffee, not for a lecture about opening doors or running my bank.”
Jessie was about to respond but stopped herself, reasoning the sooner he had his coffee, the sooner he’d leave the café. She had never had any trouble with him before, but that didn’t matter. Her customers didn’t come to the café to listen to arguments—they were bad for business.
She took a fresh to-go cup from the stash under the coffee machine.
“Hey, Jeff. Why don’t you go take a seat and I’ll bring you a fresh coffee after I’ve served this customer? I have some ideas for the website I’d love to get your thoughts on.”
She looked around desperately. Where were Bee and the chief? It seemed like they had both disappeared. She was trying as hard as she could to diffuse the situation, but she suspected it might kick off again at any moment.
“I don’t see why he gets to have a free coffee? Do you reward loutish behavior?”
Jessie rolled her eyes. “Can I ask you—respectfully—to take your argument out of this café? It’s a place for relaxation and calm, not blazing rows.”
“But, Jessie,” Jeff said in a strange monotone. “He’s the one that’s trouble, not me. I’m just trying to get by.”
“Listen to yourself,” Albie hissed. “Why don’t you go and sort out your finances instead of sniveling to your coffee server?”
Jessie didn’t know Albie that well—she always used the overnight deposit box to bank the café’s takings. She and Bee owned the café outright, so it wasn’t like they were forced to have regular meetings with Albie about the health of their business.
She had been considering taking out a loan to pay for the work on Lindemann’s. Now she was second-guessing the wisdom of that plan and thinking she might do better to look further afield for financing.
Thankfully, she was just about finished frothing the milk. She poured it over the two shots of espresso in Albie’s cup.
“There you are,” she said, thrusting the cup at him.
He was just as eager to take it and get out of there.
Except Jeff was not giving up. “Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.
“Back to my office. To do my job.”
“Some job,” he snapped. “Taking peoples’ livelihoods away when it suits you. How do you think it’s going to look for my other business if you bankrupt me to call in those loans? I told you I’ll have the money soon. You’re nothing more than a vulture.”
“A vulture…” Albie repeated, looking rather amused by this. “Mr. Morton, you ought to keep your opinions—”
“Oh, can it!” Jeff cried. “You’ll get what you deserve sooner or later, I guarantee it!”
He stormed out of the café, banging the door behind him. Albie followed after giving the furious web developer a headstart. His exit was no more subtle than his entrance had been.
Jessie leaned against the counter and sighed. So much for an uneventful day at the café.
2
There was still no sign of Bee and the chief. When there was a lull in orders, Jessie decided to go back to the kitchen to investigate.
She found them in there, leaning against the kitchen bench. They turned to look at her when she came in and she was struck by the guilty looks on their faces. Martin was perched in the corner, drinking a coffee and eating a muffin from the batch Bee had just taken out of the oven.
Jessie looked around at them. “What’s going on here? You two look like I’ve caught you in the act and you, Martin. What are you doing eating in here? You always take your breaks out in the café.”
“Oh leave him alone, Jessie. The man can eat where he wants.”
“Of course he can,” she conceded. “But you two still look guilty as sin. So I’ll ask you again: what are you up to?”
At this, Martin picked up his cup and plate and hurried past her.
“Martin said there was an angry customer out there,” Bee said quickly.
Jessie saw right through her. “If that was any other time you’d have come scurrying out to see what was going on. I know you, Aunt Bee. Something’s up. Are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to guess?”
Bee glanced at Charles, who shook his head.
“What? Come on.”
“You’ve been tired lately. Maybe now isn’t the best time…”
“You can’t tell me something’s wrong and then not tell me what it is. Come on, out with it!”
Another glance passed between the older couple. This time, Aunt Bee shook her head.
“We have to tell her, Charles. The parade is this weekend. We should have had this organized weeks ago.”
“Ah,” Jessie said, relief bubbling up inside her and making her smile. She had assumed it was something very serious. “The Pumpkin Parade. We missed it last year because of the cruise. Are you thinking of running an event for it? Good idea. Lindemann’s has been booked by the council for a private reception.”
The Pumpkin Parade was an annual tradition in Springdale. Jessie had never been there for one of the parades, and last year was no exception even though she had been living in Springdale for months by then. She had heard the locals talking about it in hushed voices for weeks. She didn’t know exactly what it involved, but it sounded like one big party.
Bee, however, didn’t look particularly excited about the prospect. “Not exactly, honey. The parade runs down Spring Street, so there won’t be a lot of foot traffic past the Bakehouse. I thought we might stay closed for the day. Lord knows you need a day off.”
“Okay,” Jessie said. “If you’re sure.”
“It’s usually a quiet day for the café.” She looked up at the chief, who swallowed and looked away. “Jessie, the parade committee came to a decision recently.”
Jessie tried to swallow back her wariness and suspicion, reasoning that her nerves and senses were all over the place due to lack of sleep. “I see,” she said, feigning interest. Bee and the chief were on a whole range of local committees. If she listened to one account of a committee meeting, she’d be forced to listen to them all, and nobody had time for that.
“Oh, I can’t handle this anymore, Beatrice. I’m just going to come right out and say it. Jessie, we’ve been having trouble coming up with candidates for Miss Pumpkin for years now. Call it what you will—a shortage of young folk, lack of interest.”
“So I nominated you for the task,” Bee finished, before adopting the I-dare-you-to-object pose that Jessie had seen too many times to count.
A surge of adrenaline rushed through Jessie. “You. Did. What?”
“Didn’t you hear me? We had to nominate you for Miss Pumpkin. There was nobody else and that float is a key part of the parade. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“You didn’t think I’d mind?” Jessie hissed, looking from one of them to the other in total shock. “First off I’m not a Miss. I’m divorced. And I’m thirty-eight. I’m not a prom queen or a pageant princess. Don’t even get me started with the pumpkin associations: I’ve put on enough weight over the past few months without being paraded around town and called a pumpkin.”
Bee clicked her tongue. “It’s a Halloween thing. Pumpkins. Halloween. It’s got nothing to do with your weight.”
“And what about my age and marital status?”
“That’s not important in this day and age.”
“It is if you’re being driven around on a float and referred to as Miss Pumpkin. Can’t you get one of the girls from the high school or college?”
“None of them are interested. We put up flyers.”
“Well I’m not interested either! Please tell me this is a joke. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to find somebody else.”
Bee looked at her husband with such a serious expression that Jessie knew this was no joke.
“Aunt Bee,” she said when neither of them answered. “I’m too old for this. I’ll be a laughing stock.”
“Nonsense,” Bee said with a wave of her hand. “They say forty is the
new twenty.”
“And I’m divorced!”
Bee looked at the chief. “If it matters to you, we can change the posters to say MIZZ Pumpkin instead of Miss. Not that anyone will notice.”
Jessie sighed. “There really is no way out of this, is there?”
“No,” Aunt Bee said sounding regretful even though she was the one who had orchestrated the whole thing. “There isn’t. I’ve already sent through your measurements for the costume.”
“The costume,” Jessie repeated, pronouncing the word slowly and carefully as if she’d never heard it before. “Why does that give me a really bad feeling?”
Bee looked away. “It’s tradition.”
“Nobody will tease you about it. It’s part of the fabric of Springdale. If anyone tries I’ll have them arrested.”
“I don’t want you to arrest anyone on my behalf, Chief. I just want to live my life in peace and not have to take part in this nonsense. Are you telling me you couldn’t find a teenager or college student willing to take part?”
Bee nodded. “It’s important. If we don’t have a Miss Pumpkin then I can’t see how the parade can go ahead.”
“Well in that case,” Jessie said with a heavy sigh, suspecting she’d been tricked into taking part. “I can’t refuse, can I?”
3
Jessie’s friend Julia was surprisingly vague when it came to the details of the Pumpkin Parade.
Jessie had arrived at the Bakehouse after Julia had already stopped by for her morning coffee. Jessie called around to Julia’s used bookstore later that day with some muffins. She wanted to find out as much as she could about Miss Pumpkin.
Pumpkins are Murder (Bee's Bakehouse Mysteries Book 8) Page 1
