Scornful Scones

by Mildred Abbott

  Scornful Scones

  a Cozy Corgi Mystery

  Mildred Abbott

  Wings of Ink Publications, LLC

  Contents

  Scornful Scones

  About Scornful Scones

  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

  Katie’s Scones

  Scone Recipe

  About the Author

  Author Note

  Acknowledgments

  Chaotic Corgis

  Scornful Scones

  Mildred Abbott

  for

  Nancy Drew

  Phryne Fisher

  and

  Julia South

  Copyright © 2018 by Mildred Abbott

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover, Logo, Chapter Heading Designer: A.J. Corza - SeeingStatic.com

  Main Editor: Desi Chapman

  2nd Editor: Corrine Harris

  Recipe and photo provided by: Rolling Pin Bakery, Denver, Co. - RollingPinBakeshop.com

  Visit Mildred’s Webpage: MildredAbbott.com

  Created with Vellum

  About Scornful Scones

  With summer approaching, Estes Park is abuzz with flowers, baking, tourists, and… murder.

  Tourist season is about to begin, and the lovely weather has Winifred Page and her corgi sidekick, Watson, leaving the comfort of the Cozy Corgi Bookshop and Bakery to reluctantly attend a celebration at the Black Bear Roaster coffee shop. But a chill of uncertainty settles over Fred when a choking death doesn’t seem so accidental—despite the dry, hazardous scones.

  As Fred and Police Sergeant Branson Wexler rekindle a possible romance, Fred shares her suspicions. But is she seeing murder at every turn? Learning to trust her gut feelings, Fred risks the ire of the coffee shop owner to investigate not one, but two, deaths.

  As suspects and motives abound, old resentments are uncovered, and Fred and Watson build new friendships even as they follow the crumbs to find clues to a killer.

  A piercing scream shattered the peaceful ambience of the bookshop. We’d closed the store ten minutes before, and I’d stolen a moment to curl up and read on the Victorian divan. At the sound, I let out a yelp and flung the book from me. Luckily it landed a few feet from the fireplace.

  A clatter of claws came from the other room.

  I looked over to find Watson scrambling to a standing position as quickly as his little corgi legs would allow. He glared at me as if I was the one who’d disrupted his nap in the sunshine.

  Before I could make sense of a scream coming from the bookshop—it had to have come from there, as loud and clear as it had been—there was a pounding above my head followed by a squeal.

  Katie?

  Must be. Though I’d never heard my best friend and business partner make such a sound before.

  Leaving the book on the floor of the mystery room, I hurried to the main portion of the bookshop and rushed up the stairs to the bakery two at a time, having to hike my pea-green broomstick skirt slightly to keep from tripping.

  Nails still clicking on the hardwood floor, despite his slow start, Watson passed me on the staircase and entered the Cozy Corgi bakery a few strides ahead of me.

  I found Katie instantly, standing behind the marble-topped bakery counter, and the mystery of the pounding was solved as she clenched her fists over her chest, performed a little jig, and let out another squeal.

  Okay, apparently she wasn’t in danger of dying. Although, perhaps she was possessed.

  Katie caught me watching, and though a blush rose to her round cheeks, she didn’t seem able to stop from giving another excited jig. With her brown curly hair bouncing around her face, she was like a little kid walking in on a surprise birthday party.

  I cast a quick glance around the bakery. Atypically, the randomly arranged antique tables, rustic chairs, and overstuffed couches were unoccupied in front of the wall of windows overlooking the downtown of Estes Park. Oh, right, not that atypical, I had to remind myself; we’d closed the shop in the middle of the day.

  “I’d accuse you of trying to scare away the customers, if we had any. I know we’ve been slammed and it’s nice to have a break, but I’m pretty sure people probably heard you on the street.”

  “Good!” Katie squealed a third time. She literally seemed like she might be on the verge of a seizure. “I want them all to hear. And after this, we’ll have a whole new definition to the word slammed. We’re going to be so packed they’ll be lining up all the way down the block.” Another squeal.

  “Katie.” I crossed the bakery and took her hand over the counter. “You screamed like you just discovered zombies were real, and now you’ve squealed four times.” I cocked an eyebrow at her but wasn’t quite able to hold back the grin. “Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?”

  She whipped her hand free, grasped the laptop, and spun it in my direction. “Check this out!”

  I peered at the screen, at a website designed in a black-and-lavender motif with scrolling letters that read The Sybarite across the top. Whatever it was seemed fancy. I considered for a moment whether I was going to admit it, and then decided if Katie really was my best friend, I wouldn’t be able to convince her anyway, so I just owned up to it. “Okay, I’m not really sure what I’m looking at. I don’t know what a Sybarite is.”

  She bugged out her brown eyes as she tilted her head. “You don’t know what the site is, or you don’t know what the word means?”

  I attempted to keep from scowling, but I was certain I failed. “Both…”

  “Winifred Page! You’re the most well-read woman I know. You own a bookshop. You had your own publishing company.” Though there was humor in her tone, there was also genuine surprise.

  “You’re the one who goes on Google binges to find out random trivia. Not me. I read books to get lost in the story and a mystery. Not to throw out ten-dollar words at random.” That might be true, but I did feel the sting of shame of not knowing. “Can we jump to why you’re screaming like there’s been another murder and skip making me feel like a fraud?”

  “The site itself is my favorite food blog of all time. It’s written by Maxine Maxwell. The woman has impeccable taste, on everything. But especially desserts. And this blog is a foodie’s bible.” She gave a combination shrug and grin that was just this side of cute. “And for future reference, sybarite is a person who is addicted to pleasing their senses and to luxury.”

  “Thank you for the vocabulary lesson.” I returned my attention to the screen. “But why all the screaming? Unless this Maxine person…” I peered back up at Katie without reading any of the words, and I sucked in a breath. “She reviewed the bakery?”

  Katie nodded, her smile so wide it almost looked like it hurt. “She sure did! And that was speedy, Fred. Maybe you’re not quite a dictionary, but you solved that mystery almost instantaneously.” She adjusted the laptop slightly so we could both see the screen and pointed halfway down the article. “I want you to read it all of course, but here’s my favorite part.”

  I tracked to where Katie’s finger w
as and read aloud. “It’s always a delight when you find a bakery that has both ambience and delectable offerings. Tucked away on top of a charming bookshop in the middle of a picturesque mountain town, the Cozy Corgi bookshop and bakery lives up to its name. Cozy and classic—despite discovering a dog hair on my sweater when I left. I expected to find that Ms. Pizzolato’s creations were a wide array of homey, comforting classics that would be found on any grandmother’s table. I wasn’t disappointed. Each item was well-crafted and filled with love. But beyond that, it was elevated talent, skill, and unadulterated artistry. Even the caramel tuile on top of the molasses and brown sugar brownie was pure pellucid perfection. I was transported to heaven.” The words stopped, so I scrolled up to reveal more of the article, and discovered pictures of the brownie in question, shots of the entire bakery, a wide encompassing image of the bookshop, as well as the view of the outside of the Cozy Corgi from the street. “Wow! This is amazing.”

  Katie squealed again, and I couldn’t blame her. “Pure pellucid perfection. That’s what she said my caramel tuile is. Pure pellucid perfection. She’s right, of course, but still.” She paused in her celebration to offer a cocked eyebrow of her own. “Just so you know, Fred, pellucid means that the caramel is—”

  “Oh, shut up!” I swiped at her playfully while laughing. “It means she could see through the tuile. I got it, I’m not a complete heathen.”

  Katie chuckled, glanced back at the computer screen, and sucked in a breath like she discovered it all over again. “We are on the Sybarite! Can you believe it?” As if her happiness was threatening to cause her to combust, Katie let out another yelp and then danced another jig.

  Watson let out a grumpy growl and took several steps back from the counter.

  Katie leaned over and scrunched her nose at him. “Oh, sorry, buddy. Here, let me make it up to you.” She quickly retrieved one of his favorite all-natural dog bone treats from a hidden compartment behind the counter and tossed it to him.

  Watson was my heart and my hero, but an athlete, he was not. Though he attempted to catch it, the treat bounced off his nose and went careening over the floor. Once again, little corgi feet struggled for traction on the hardwood as he ran in place for a second and then darted after it. Once he’d captured the treat, he lifted his head regally and pranced in a dignified manner to a spot under one of the far tables to eat in peace.

  I loved that little freak.

  After a second, I turned back to Katie and the computer. “This really is amazing. And well-deserved. I’ve never met anyone who bakes as well as you.”

  “Thanks, Fred. That means the world.” She blushed again, clearly pleased. “But this really is huge, and I’m honored, it was so unexpected. I know we’re not needing more crowds—we’re barely getting by the way it is—but it could draw people who follow her blog to visit the shop. People travel all over the country at the suggestions of this woman. They’ll plan entire trips to Estes Park just for our bakery.” Her smile faltered. “Talk about pressure.”

  I was feeling that myself, and the review hadn’t really even been about the bookshop portion. I couldn’t imagine what Katie was feeling. “Don’t think about it. You just bake like you always do, and everyone will love it. Don’t stress yourself out.” That was easier said than done, and I knew it. I could also see that the thought was starting to steal some of Katie’s joy, which squealing or not, I didn’t want to see diminished. “Did you know that Maxine Maxwell had come in? You didn’t mention it.”

  “No.” The distraction worked instantly, some of the wonder returning to Katie’s expression. “You know, I hadn’t even thought of that. But thank goodness I didn’t know. I would’ve been a complete wreck waiting on her, and then an absolute mess wondering what she’d thought and if she was going to post about it.” She clutched at her chest. “Holy moly, what if she hadn’t liked it. I could’ve opened up to my favorite blog and seen her ripping apart my bakery.”

  “But she didn’t rip it apart.” I reached for Katie’s hand again. “Obviously the woman has taste, because she didn’t do that. She saw your baking for what it is. Your pure pellucid perfection. Exactly what anyone addicted to… what was it… the finer things in life has come to expect?”

  “To the pleasure of the senses and luxury, actually.” She winked. “I’ll quiz you later.”

  “You’re enjoying this a little too much.” I chuckled and released her hand with a final squeeze. “So happy for the review, Katie. It really is wonderful.”

  “Yeah. It really is.” Katie sighed contentedly, then sucked in a breath as she straightened. “Oh no. I hadn’t even thought. We’re going to Black Bear Roaster in just a few minutes. What if Carla has seen this? She’ll be livid.”

  Now that was a thought. Things were tense enough between Carla and the two of us; the review of Katie’s baking wasn’t going to help anything. “I’m sure she hasn’t seen it. She’s too busy setting up for the celebration. They’re doing it open-house style, people have been coming in and out all day I’m sure. I doubt she’s had a second to look. Besides, who knows if she even reads that blog. It’s not like she makes her own items at the coffee shop.”

  “Oh, she reads it. And she wants to be on it. Don’t kid yourself.” She considered for a second and nodded. “But I bet you’re right. No way she’s had time to see it. I’ve glanced out the windows every once in a while. They’re keeping pretty busy down there.”

  We’d already had this discussion several times over the past week, but I decided to give it one more shot. “We could stay here, just to be on the safe side. We can even stay closed for the hour like we planned. You can get some more baking done, I can get some more reading accomplished. Watson can nap. Just avoid it altogether.”

  Katie pointed her finger at me, suddenly serious. “Don’t try to get out of this, Fred. This is a show of goodwill. Besides, the invitation stated that dogs were welcome. Clearly that was directed at you, since you helped clear her name not that long ago. We can’t skip it. Maybe this will be the thing that puts us on equal footing again. If we were ever there to begin with.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “You just want to go so you can wear your new T-shirt.”

  She didn’t even pretend to deny it as she pulled out the hem of her T-shirt so she could get a better view at the embossed image of two large cups of coffee sitting at a tea party, dining on scones. “Well, I did have Joe make it special. It would be a shame to waste it.”

  “Yeah, a real shame. The whole world needs to see that.” Katie and I never agreed on fashion. Not that I cared either way, but it was fun to tease her about it. “Still, I know you, Katie. You’re not fooling me. You picked scones because they’re the worst things there.”

  “I’d say that’s subjective.” That accusation she did attempt to deny, though she didn’t quite pull it off. “Who can really say what’s the best or the worst anywhere.” Her smile returned, and then she pointed to the computer. “Although, I suppose Maxine Maxwell might have a thought or two about what’s the best.”

  “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  Black Bear Roaster was packed. So much so that it reminded me of how Katie’s bakery had been recently. Having a celebration for introducing the new line of espresso in honor of her son, who was born two months before, was rather genius on Carla’s part. And I didn’t begrudge her for thinking of it. The coffee shop was Carla’s livelihood, her passion, and though the bakery on top of my little bookshop had been Katie’s dream, not mine, I couldn’t help but feel responsible for Carla losing business. Although… her personality and cardboardesque food might have had something to do with it.

  Watson had been prancing on our way to the front door—he didn’t have a problem with the cardboard flavor of Carla’s offerings—but he halted as we walked inside and found the crowd. He let out a low mixture of a whine and growl as he glared at the countless feet between him and the case of
pastries.

  Katie chuckled and bent down to scratch his head. “You and your mama are quite a bit alike sometimes.”

  “What? I’m not growling.”

  She grinned at me and stood once more. “You sure about that?”

  I gave her a glare, doing my best to match Watson’s.

  Right on cue, Carla emerged from under a blue banner strung over the rear portion of the store reading Introducing Maverick Espresso. On the left side was a picture of a fuzzy teddy bear, and on the right, a steaming cup of coffee. As Carla had named her son Maverick Espresso Beaker, I wasn’t sure whether the sign was celebrating the newborn or the espresso. Maybe this had been a new launch and a baby welcoming combined. I hadn’t even thought to bring a baby present.

  Carla hurried over to us, swiping her blonde bangs over her forehead. “You made it. I’m so glad.” She pulled me into a hug, patted my back, did the same to Katie, and then lowered herself to rub Watson behind the ears.

  He stiffened, but allowed himself to be touched.

  Katie and I exchanged glances. This was a new version of Carla Beaker I’d never met before. Maybe motherhood really did change a person.

  I barely had time to figure out what to say before she stood back up.

  “Of course we’re here. We wouldn’t have missed it.” I kept my gaze firmly away from Katie, lest I see the smirk I was certain was plastered on her face. “We’re so excited about your new espresso. Both of them.”