Bee hissed as a figure came into view. And then another and another.
“What on earth?”
“It’s Millie,” Bee said, a smile parted her lips. “Millie and some friends. A lot of friends.”
“Customers.” I nearly shouted at the prospect.
Bee was just as ecstatic, though she hid it better than I did.
“Hello there, dears,” Millie said, coming to a halt in front of the truck’s window. “I thought you two might have just what my associates and I need for breakfast.”
“Your associates?” I asked.
“Yes,” Millie said. “These are a few of the writers on our team at the paper. And Kevin over there is the food critic I told you about.”
A stocky man wearing a thick, puffy black jacket waved at us. He was balding with a sharp nose, but he had kind eyes. Hopefully, he had kind fingers too. The last thing the truck needed was a bad review on top of everything else going on.
“Wonderful,” I said. “Well, we’re open for business. What would you like, Millie?”
“I’ll have one of those pumpkin-spice lattes, please, and a vanilla-caramel cupcake.”
“Absolutely,” I said and flew into action.
We served the customers two at a time, doling out delicious treats, from the cupcakes to the mudslide minis we’d served the week before, to pieces of pumpkin pie Bee had made in anticipation of Thanksgiving, which was just around the corner.
I’d come up with the idea for a few spooky skeleton cupcakes for Halloween as well. Holidays, whether Halloween or Christmas or Thanksgiving, were my favorite days of the year.
The cupcakes nearly sold out, and the writers and the food critic—my stomach did a turn and a dip at the sight of him tucking into his cake—went to sit on the benches overlooking the ocean. Millie hung back, sipping on her latte.
“This is delicious,” Millie said.
“It was Bee’s idea. You know, now that fall’s here, pumpkin spice and everything nice is in order.”
Millie set down her Styrofoam cup on the counter and peeled back the paper on her cupcake. She took a bite. “Oh wow. Oh my gosh. If Kevin doesn’t give you a five-star review, I’m going to have to find another critic for the paper. Because this is just…”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s all Bee. She’s an amazing baker.”
“Now, stop that, both of you.” Bee flapped her hands at me. “Flattery doesn’t fit me well. I think it’s because I eat too many cakes.”
“How could you not when they taste so good?”
Bee fanned her face, but it did nothing to banish the redness in her cheeks. “Well, thank you, anyway. I’ve been working on improving my craft. It’s nice to know it’s appreciated. And it’s nice to finally serve some customers after all this time.”
“Yes, thanks for that, Millie. Having people to serve is a blessing.”
Millie finished off her cupcake and licked her fingers. Others sat on their benches doing the same. “Judging by the reactions to your food, it looks like you’ll have a few return customers,” Millie said. “Word spreads fast in this town. I’m sure the other residents will get over themselves and come try your stuff, especially once these guys start telling them how amazing it is. I know I’ll be doing the same.”
“You’re too nice, Millie.”
“I’m always willing to help a woman out,” she said. “Especially one who’s running her own business. Heaven knows we need all the help we can get.”
The whoop of a police siren cut across the last part of her sentence. The satisfaction that had come with serving customers evaporated instantly. It was Detective Jones. Again.
“If he’s coming to shut down the truck, he’s about to get more than just the keys,” Bee said, rolling up her sleeves. “I took a jujutsu class last spring, and I’d be happy to give the man a lesson. And a black eye.”
And I had a black belt in karate—not that it ever helped me with my panicky beaning moments. That was an obstacle I had to overcome. “Bee, I don’t think knocking out a police officer is going to curry much favor with, well, anyone in town.”
“You’d be surprised,” Millie whispered, lifting her cup to cover her mouth. “Most people in town aren’t exactly Jones’s best friend.”
“That seems to be a trend around here.” Bee sniffed. “He’s lucky he hasn’t been murdered yet.” She’d said it a little too loudly, and Detective Jones stopped a few steps from the truck, glaring at her.
“That you threatening a police officer, Miss Pine?”
“Take it how you want it,” Bee replied. “Hobbit man.”
The detective next to Jones—Martin, if I wasn’t mistaken—snorted but passed it off as a sneeze. Hints of mirth danced at the corners of his lips.
He has a nice smile. Oof, I had to get it together. Detective Martin was probably my age, maybe a little younger even, and I was not interested in dating—particularly not a detective who may or may not think I was a murderer.
Jones sauntered up to the truck, his thick thumbs tucked into his belt loops. “I see you’re back in business. Folks around here usually got their heads on straight. I wonder what changed.” He cast a beady-eyed glare around. The diners ignored him.
Detective Martin tapped a display case. “Those look good. The vanilla-caramel cupcakes. Can I get one, please?”
Polite too. And he’s got dark hair. I liked men with dark hair. I also liked not having my heart broken. “Yes,” I said stiffly and went to get one for him.
“What are you doing, Martin? You can’t buy food from a person of interest.”
“It’s just a cupcake.”
“And murder is just a felony.”
“Good heavens, don’t be so melodramatic, detective,” Millie put in. “I mean, really, it’s baked goods. And from what my sources have told me, you don’t have anything solid on either of these ladies.”
“Your sources are wrong,” Jones snapped.
“That explains why you’ve arrested Bee and Ruby.”
“Listen,” Jones said, as I handed over a boxed up cupcake to Martin, “I came out here to warn you old bats to stay out of trouble.”
“Bats?” Bee asked and started removing her earrings. “You’d better get him out of here, Ruby, if you want to keep me out of jail.”
“Word on the street is you two have been following people around,” Jones said. “That’s suspicious behavior. I hear one more thing like that, and your butts will be locked up faster than you can put extra weight on ‘em from your cakes.” He marched off back to the cruiser.
“Let me at ‘em,” Bee said, trying to sidestep to get to the truck’s door.
I blocked her path. “It’s not worth it, Bee. Let him go.” I took a deep breath, but it didn’t help dismiss the rage now bubbling through my veins. My hands shook as I rang up the cupcake order for Detective Martin. I held out his change.
“Keep it,” he said, in a deep rumble. “Sorry about Jones.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to add something, but the moment passed, and he hurried off to join his partner instead.
We watched them leave, Bee with her fists clenched, Millie shaking her head, and me wiping down the counter to keep myself busy.
It was more important than ever we got to the bottom of what had happened. If only to prove Jones wrong.
16
The mood on the truck had picked up significantly after the run-in with the mean detective. Millie’s friends and colleagues had, indeed, passed on the word about the truck’s delicious treats, sweets, and coffees, and we’d been swamped with customers for the first time in more than a week.
We arrived back at the guesthouse just after four, starving, satisfied, and tired in the way only a hard day’s work could bring.
“My feet are killing me,” Bee said.
“Mine too.” I dropped my handbag on the dressing table in my room. “But isn’t it nice?”
“Definitely. A good change from all the vacation time we’ve been having. I
only wish you hadn’t stopped me from attacking that detective. As unwise as it is, he does deserve a good beating.” Bee’s lips had gone thin.
“Let’s not worry about him now. Can you smell that?” The tempting scents of dinner being prepared drifted up the stairs and through my open bedroom door.
“I could eat a horse,” Bee said.
I shut the door behind us, not even bothering to change out of the clothes I’d been wearing all day, and hurried downstairs. We took our usual spot next to the fireplace, relishing the warmth from the logs crackling in the grate.
The others hadn’t come down to the tables, now separated and scattered throughout the living room. Their loss. Though, it would have been nice to catch up with Jessie, if just to ask her whether it was true that she and Gina were jogging buddies.
Samantha exited through the kitchen doors and spotted us at our table. “Good evening. Did you have a good day on your truck?”
“It was fantastic,” I said.
“Apart from a brief incursion from the Lord of the Rings.”
“That was Sauron, not Frodo.”
“Fine, an incursion from the short, chunky, hairy, and mean guy.”
“Detective Jones?” Sam asked.
“That’s the one,” Bee replied. “Although, he did have another detective with him too who was quite pleasing on the eye and the ear. Don’t you think, Ruby?”
I shrugged. “He was fine.”
“Fine like fiiiiiine.” Bee grinned at me.
“Oh, I know who you’re talking about,” Sam said. “That Detective Martin? He’s new to Carmel Springs, but he seems like such a sweet guy. And, between us, he’s the most eligible bachelor in town. Missi Lauren’s mom told me that they’re trying to get him to participate in the town’s Halloween kissing booth this year.”
“A Halloween kissing booth?” I asked. “Now I’ve heard everything.”
“Interested, are you?” Bee nudged me. “He was giving you the eye.”
I cleared my throat. “So, Sam, what’s on the menu tonight? It smells amazing.”
“I’ve made lobster mac ‘n cheese,” Sam replied. “I hope you’re hungry. It’s just come out of the oven with a freshly baked cheesy garlic bread.”
“I have my suspicions that you’re trying to make me fat.” Bee leaned back and patted her belly. “I’m happy to report that it’s been a resounding success so far.”
“I’ll be right back with your food,” she said. “And some drinks? Milkshakes? Sodas?”
“A soda would be lovely.”
“For me too,” I said.
Sam hurried back into the kitchen, and the doors swung, brushing their ends against each other then settling. Trouble darted into the living room from the reception hall with a drawn-out meoowww. He rubbed against my ankles. The lobster had likely drawn him in.
“What was that about?”
“What?” I asked.
“I mentioned that handsome detective and you avoided the topic completely. Did I make you uncomfortable, Ruby?” Bee’s hazel eyes had filled with concern.
“Oh. No. Not really. It’s just…” How did I word this? I hadn’t discussed this with anyone before, not even my work colleagues or my parents.
“It’s fine,” Bee said. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
I fiddled with the silverware. “My ex-fiancé left me a few years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“He didn’t just leave me, though. He … well, he disappeared. I reported him missing and everything, but there were no leads, and from what I gathered from his parents, he’s actually alive and well. But gone. He didn’t even take his ring when he left. Daniel was supposed to be the love of my life.”
Bee shook her head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s OK. It was tough at first. He worked at the paper with me, and when he disappeared, people who had been my friends started talking. They blamed me for his disappearance as if I had chased him away. He was a star journalist too. It was just so odd.”
“That must be so difficult for you. It sounds like you had no closure.”
I thought about that. “I guess you could say that this is my closure. Traveling around in the food truck. I don’t want to settle down anywhere. I just want to keep moving and forget about all of that stuff.”
The kitchen doors opened, and Sam emerged with a tray. On top of it, she’d positioned two steaming plates of lobster mac ‘n cheese, garlic bread in a basket, and two sodas, bubbling in their glasses.
“Wow,” I said, and the negativity that had come with mentioning Daniel’s name disappeared. How could I possibly be sad about that when I had such great company and amazing food to eat? “Thank you so much, Sam.”
“Absolutely. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Why don’t you join us?” Bee asked. “It would be lovely to have the company.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” we exclaimed, in unison. Trouble meowed his agreement.
17
“I’m going to roll into bed,” Bee said, struggling up the stairs after dinner and a sumptuous caramel cheesecake for dessert. “I wasn’t kidding about her plans to fatten me up, you know. I’ve gained at least ten pounds today.”
I laughed. “There are worse fates.” My mirth was overwhelmed by a jaw-creaking yawn. I was exhausted, and the thought of curling up in my warm bed, perhaps even with little Trouble for company, was heaven.
The kitty cat chased up the stairs after us, batting at the shoelaces of my sneakers. We reached the landing and trooped across it. It took me a second to register that Trouble hadn’t followed. The kitten hopped back and forth on the top step, his fur standing on end and back arched.
“What’s wrong, Trubby?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Look at the cat,” I said. “He doesn’t want to come up here.”
Bee’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. “I’ve heard about this. It’s a spirit.”
“What?”
“Cats can see ghosts. See? Look how he won’t come any further up the stairs? There’s a ghost blocking his path.”
“Bee, that’s…”
“Don’t say ridiculous, Ruby, don’t you dare. Anything’s possible, you know.” Bee shivered and rubbed her arms. “I wonder if it’s Honey’s spirit. I mean, they say that murder victims often don’t know they’ve passed on. And they can’t let go of their old lives. So they stick around and—”
A creaking noise drew my attention. Bee jumped on the spot.
I’d never have taken her for someone easily spooked. She usually ran toward danger. “Relax, Bee, it’s just a creaking door or something. Why are you so jumpy?”
“It’s just the thought of facing something I can’t see.”
“There’s nothing here.” But Trouble kept up the same odd behavior hissing and hopping around, his glowing yellow eyes fixed on a spot nearby.
I followed his line of sight and gasped.
“What? What is it?” Bee grabbed hold of my arm.
“My door,” I whispered. “It’s open.”
That was what the creaking had been. My bedroom door was ajar, the lights off inside the room.
“Oh.” Bee let out a sigh of relief.
“Oh? Now you’re relaxed?”
“Of course. Ghosts don’t open doors.”
“But murderers might,” I whispered.
Was that what had spooked Trouble? A stranger in the guesthouse?
“We should call the police.”
Bee nodded. “But our phones are in there.”
“Right.” I took a step forward and then another one back. “Right. So. Um. Maybe?”
“Come on, let’s go in. It’s two against one.” Bee tucked her arm into mine and walked forward, guiding me along with her. Trouble hissed and gave a terrific kitty meow, but there was no stopping us now.
Bee opened the door. I reached in, feeling along the wall for the
light switch.
“Aha!” Bee yelled, leaping into the room as the yellow light filled it to the corners. She lifted her hands and positioned them like a Kung-Fu master. “Come out, right now. We’re armed, dangerous, and not afraid to take you down.”
But silence greeted her. A gentle rush of wind parted the curtains.
“The window’s open,” I whispered, scanning the rest of the room. Everything looked in order, except for… “My purse.” It had been tipped over, the insides spilling out across the side table and the wooden floor.
Bee hurried from the window. “Was anything taken?”
“I don’t know. Let me check.” I bent and sifted through my things.
“Careful not to touch any of it. There might be fingerprints the police could use. It might have been the murderer.”
“I find that a far more chilling thought than the ghosts,” I said.
“Forget ghosts. Ghosts don’t need to open doors.” Bee was so matter-of-fact that it would’ve been funny if not for the burglary. Or break-in. “I don’t understand it,” she continued, “why come in through the door and leave through the window? Or did they come through the window and sneak out through the door? Hmm.” She strode back to the window and peered out. “There’s nothing out there.”
“Oh no,” I said.
“What is it?”
“The keys to the food truck.” The blood drained from my face and fingertips. “They’re gone.”
It had taken about an hour for Jones to get his butt from the police station and down to the Oceanside Guesthouse, even though the guesthouse was probably a five-minute drive for the man.
He emerged from his cruiser and met us in front of the food truck, stamping his feet and shouting over his shoulder at Detective Martin. The handsome partner followed, settling his hat on his head.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said.
“I don’t handle break-ins.” Jones glared at us. “You’re wasting my time calling me out here. I’m in the middle of a murder investigation.”
The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set Page 15
