The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Rosie A. Point

  She can’t keep a man. Her fiancé ran away. Her fiancé couldn’t stand to be around her for a second longer.

  “Look,” Bee said, “I don’t know what’s going through that head of yours, but I can assure you that this will be the best Christmas ever, and that solving this case will only make it better. Let’s help these people.” She tapped her chin and pointed at me. “Without Detective Martin finding out.”

  “Right.” We got off the swinging chair, and I caught Bee’s arm. “Promise me something, though?”

  “Anything.”

  “Promise me that we will definitely leave town after Christmas. Even if I don’t want to.”

  “Is that what’s bothering you?” Bee shook her head. “Rubes, after this town, we’ll be adventuring in another one. That’s been the plan all along. Don’t let that worry your little old head. I promise.”

  “Thanks.”

  After that, it was easier to go inside and strip off my outerwear. Sam had seated herself behind the reception desk and was working on her accounts—Trouble the growing kitty had decided lying across the pages and scratching at her pen nib was the best way to increase her productivity.

  “Tea and cookies in the living room,” Sam said, smiling at us and darting her pen away from Trouble’s calico paw. “But, um, just be mindful… Ava’s in there. She’s not feeling that great.”

  Bee and I exchanged the briefest of glances. The spouse was always the main suspect in murder cases, and this was our chance to get inside information.

  “We’ll try to be—” I started.

  A man exited into the hall, and I cut off. He wore his hair long and held back in a ponytail. A single golden hoop earring hung from his right ear. A modern-day pirate without the peg leg.

  “How’s she doing, Jerry?” Sam asked the guy.

  “She’s as to be expected. Not doing great, but what can we do? She just needs to rest and relax.”

  “Hi,” I said, holding out a hand. “I’m Ruby.”

  “How rude of me,” Sam said. “Sorry, this is Jerry Flagg. He was the mayor’s assistant. Jerry, this is Bee, and this is Ruby. They’re guests at the Oceanside and very good friends of mine.”

  Bee shook Jerry’s hand next. “You’re here for Ava?” she asked.

  “Just trying to comfort her. The mayor and I got kinda close working together, and Ava’s a friend. I can’t imagine what she’s going through.” He checked his watch. “I’d better get going. The town committee is holding a closed-doors meeting regarding the mayoral position.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I called after him.

  “Interesting dude,” Bee said, gesturing near her ear. “I didn’t know hoop earrings were still in fashion.”

  “Were they ever in fashion?” I asked.

  Bee chuckled, and we waved to Sam and headed into the living room, seeking out our cookies and tea. Gosh, Shawn, the new chef at the Oceanside, was so great at baking and cooking, the smells drifting through the guesthouse had me hungry all day and night.

  Mrs. Jacobsen sat in one of the armchairs by the fire, lifting a teacup to her lips. She shook badly and spilled golden liquid to her lap then muttered and put down the cup on the coffee table. “Silly,” she whispered to herself, shaking her blonde head. “Terrible. I’m so…”

  “Sorry,” Bee said. “Mind if we join you? We’re frozen to the bone.”

  Ava jumped as if she’d been poked. “Oh! Oh, hello. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Evidently,” Bee replied.

  I stepped on the toe of her boot. Bee wasn’t the best at interacting emotionally with people. Sarcasm was her go-to response.

  “How are you feeling, Ava?” I asked, taking the armchair to her left. Bee took the one to her right and put out her hands to the fire.

  “Cold and unhappy.” Ava sniffed and lifted a crumpled Kleenex. She dabbed underneath her eyes, and bits of the white tissue dropped off. “It’s just so… it’s beyond belief. I don’t understand why anyone would have wanted to hurt Ian. He was a good man. A nice man. He did his best for this town, and the fact that someone would even conceive of doing this is just…” She sniffled, and a single tear tracked down her cheek.

  “We’re so sorry for your loss,” I said.

  “Thank you,” Ava replied. “I’m glad to be here. Everyone in this guesthouse has been friendly and welcoming. I just couldn’t stay in that house a second longer.”

  “Why?” Bee asked.

  Ava blinked at the abrupt question. “Because that was where we shared our happiest memories. And staying there and reliving them is too painful for me.” She wiped the tear away. “I don’t know how I’m going to live without Ian. He was such a rock.”

  So far, all we’d learned was that Mayor Jacobsen had been liked by all. And that he might have had an enemy in the form of the Babcock. Millie had mentioned that the other day—that the Babcock had lost to the mayor in the elections.

  I chewed on my lip. “Ava, have you spoken to the police about what’s happened?”

  “Yes, of course. That Detective Martin came by and interviewed me.” The briefest flash of anger crossed Ava’s expression—a pulling down at the corners of the lips, wrinkles arching between her brows. But the sorrow returned a second later. “He was rough and too much. I didn’t like talking to him. He asked the stupidest questions.”

  “What type of questions?” Bee asked.

  “That’s really none of your business,” Ava said, coldly.

  This was the reaction Bee incited in people. “Sorry, Ava,” I said, “we didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that—” I struggled for a reason and latched onto one. “The cops in Carmel Springs try their best, but they haven’t exactly had a great track record over the past while.”

  “Oh, I heard. I believe that Jones, may he rest in peace, locked you up for a night a few weeks ago.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “We’ve made a habit of looking into these cases ourselves, you know?”

  “Oh.” Ava turned her gaze to the fire.

  “Ava, can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm your husband?” Bee asked, measuring her tone this time. “Anyone at all?”

  The mayor’s wife remained silent for a few minutes, the popping of the logs in the fireplace seemed louder than usual. “Maybe,” she whispered. “I don’t want to falsely accuse anyone, but I’ll tell you that the only person my husband didn’t like was that butcher. Babcock.”

  “The Babcock,” I breathed.

  “That’s right,” Ava said. “He threatened my Ian on several occasions.”

  “With violence?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Ava whispered, quickly, her eyes dancing now, more alive than they’d been a few minutes ago, as if the gossip had invigorated her. “He threatened to steal the position of mayor from Ian. If anyone had it out for him, it was the butcher.”

  And there we had it, our first real lead.

  A butcher’s threat. Could the mystery be that simple to solve?

  6

  “Are you sure this is OK?” Sam asked, wringing her hands as she stood in front of the reception desk in the Oceanside. “I don’t want to impose. I’m sure you ladies have much more important things to do today.”

  “It’s no imposition.” I patted her on the shoulder. “We planned on taking a walk today, anyway. Maybe stopping by the Lobster Shack to see if they’ve got anything interesting on special? Right Bee?”

  “Of course,” Bee said. “As if you could ever impose. You’re our friend.”

  “Yes, and you’re doing a really good thing for Ava.” Even though Ava was one of our prime suspects since she was the spouse of the deceased. But running an errand for Sam was a good thing to do for our friend, and it helped that that errand would take us to another suspect.

  “It’s an inconvenience, though,” Sam continued, lifting Trouble into her arms and stroking his furry head. He purred and pressed himself into her hand. “I wish Mr. Babcock would just allow us to b
ook our turkeys online.”

  “Or, how about everyone just fetches their turkeys on the twenty-third?” Bee asked.

  Sam gave a scandalized gasp, and Trouble batted her chin. “And risk not getting a turkey at all? No, Bee, the booking system at our local butcher’s is the only way you can ensure a happy Christmas lunch or dinner in Carmel Springs.” She licked her lips. “The Babcock might have his flaws, but this system isn’t one of them. Are you sure you want to go?”

  “We’re sure.”

  “Forget about it,” Bee said and winked.

  We headed out of the guesthouse, our coats fluffy and warm and our gloves thick, and made our way toward the food truck. There wasn’t a chance I’d walked all the way to the butcher’s in this weather. I was big on sightseeing, but a couple minutes out in the cold had already turned me into Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.

  The food truck’s heating warmed the interior of the cab and misted up the window, so I rolled one of mine down and let a sliver of cool air in.

  Five minutes later, we parked outside the butcher’s shop. The windows had been sprayed with stenciled Christmas décor—snowflakes, reindeer outlines, and Santa’s sleigh—while specials were proclaimed in the window.

  “Book your turkey before it’s too late.” Bee read the words off a clapboard that had been placed out in the street. “The best turkey you’ll ever eat. Now if that’s not marketing genius, I don’t know what is.”

  “It’s a small town, Bee. I don’t think he has much competition.”

  “Blatantly obvious. Look how many people are in there.”

  My best baker and friend was right. The inside of the butcher’s shop was packed full of people, and there didn’t seem to be a line of any sort heading from the main counter at the front.

  “We’d better get in there,” I said. “We don’t want to miss our shot. Sam will have a panic attack if she doesn’t get her turkey.”

  “She’ll probably be more panicked than Ava is about her husband,” Bee whispered.

  I didn’t comment. Apparently, Bee thought Ava’s grief wasn’t sorrowful enough. Or she was just being her usual suspicious self. Regardless, we pulled the door open and slipped into the crowd.

  It was hot inside, and the scent of salts, meat, and spices clogged the air between the milling people of Carmel Springs. A few of them mumbled or chatted, waiting their turn, perhaps grumbling about the wait, but the others? Why, they were focused on the spectacle that was the Babcock himself.

  Clayton was up on the front counter, the thick soles of his rubbery boots squeaking as he walked back and forth, talking at speed. “—have all been scared, and I’ll be honest, I’m scared too,” he was saying. “But I’m glad that so many of you are here today. It shows that nothing, not even the horrifying death of the man who was supposed to care for this town, can keep us apart.” He paused for effect.

  “That’s hardly sanitary,” Bee whispered. “His boots on that counter. Should we really book a turkey from here?”

  “I don’t see that we have another choice. The General Store doesn’t stock fowl.”

  “The only thing that’s foul around here is his boots on that counter.” Bee grimaced. “As a woman in the food industry, I find this disturbing.”

  “Not nearly as disturbing as you should find the death of the mayor,” I whispered.

  It was a good way to bring our thoughts back to our second reason for coming to Babcock’s butchery—he was a suspect. The sworn enemy of the deceased mayor. Sworn enemies were a big deal in Carmel Springs—the town had a rich history of them and their antics.

  The door to the butchery opened, and a glamorous woman, ensconced in a cloud of perfume, entered. It was Greta Gould, the wannabe Broadway star from the Corner Café. She hovered near the entrance, her eyes narrowed as she studied the Babcock.

  “—look after this town. Let’s face it, folks, not everyone’s cut out to deliver the quality service that I am. You all know from your experiences in this butchery that I am the pro at giving people exactly what they want when they want it.”

  Nobody nodded. In fact, a couple people looked mildly annoyed. Nobody had gotten what they’d wanted this morning, it seemed.

  “How does one book a turkey?” I whispered.

  “I guess we have to talk to Mr. Braggy Pants,” Bee replied. “If he ever stops talking.”

  “The thing is,” the Babcock continued, “you all deserve someone who’ll look after your best interests. There’s no one in this town who could possibly say that Mayor Jacobsen did anything to uplift us. And if they did say that, they’d be lying. Carmel Springs has just entered a trying time. We’re in huge need of guidance, and we all know that I am the one who can provide that guidance.”

  A shifting nearby drew my attention from the braggart Babcock. Greta had a magnificent, golden-gloved hand pressed to the glass front door. Her eyes, done in dramatic smoky eyeshadow, were narrowed at the Babcock, and the more he spoke about his aspirations to be mayor and how bad Mayor Jacobsen had been for the town, the thinner her lips grew.

  I nudged Bee as surreptitiously as I could and nodded to Greta.

  “—think that I’m the only candidate who could possibly take Jacobsen’s place. I know that I’m going to bring to you exactly what you need as the good citizens off Carmel Springs.”

  Greta’s mouth was now a bitter slash. She pushed the door open and slipped out into the street, introducing a cold gust of wind into the shop.

  I shivered.

  The door slapped shut, but the noise didn’t deter the ongoing speech. “—no more crime! No more murders. With me at the helm, you’ll finally be safe from the vicious evildoers who stalk our town.”

  A few people had perked up at the mention of murder, but mostly, people were still annoyed, pulling off their gloves or fiddling with their collars in the growing heat inside the shop. And what about Greta’s behavior? Was she just as frustrated as we were? Had she left because she’d wanted to book a turkey?

  Greta doesn’t seem the type who’d be into cooking turkeys. But wait, was there a type for that? Anyone could cook. Not everyone could cook well.

  “Now, I know most of you are here to book your turkeys,” the Babcock said, and people shuffled and finally started acting eager. “But if you’ll give me just another twenty minutes of your time, I can explain my fifty-point plan for the—”

  “What do we do?” I whispered.

  “Wait, I guess,” Bee replied, “I hate to say it, but we’ve got to listen to Babcock if we want to save Christmas at the Oceanside.”

  My gaze traveled to the door, but it remained empty of glamor or Greta. Why had she been in here? And why had she left in such a rush?

  7

  It took another hour before we finally got to the front of the line in the butcher’s shop and booked our turkey. By the time we’d squeezed out of the shop, a full queue had started outside the door, and the folks still waiting to make their bookings inside seemed on the brink of rioting.

  Suffice to say, everyone had grown sick of the Babcock’s grandiose plans and self-aggrandizement. But no one had the chops to put him in his place, apart from maybe Bee. I’d had to step on her toe and pinch her elbow to get her to keep quiet. The last thing we needed was to make a murder suspect an enemy. Buttering them up was key.

  Then again, Babcock had buttered himself up with the talk so fully, I doubted there was a stick of butter left in the state.

  “All right,” Bee said, once we’d gotten back into the food truck and switched on the heating. “That was both nightmarish and interesting.”

  “It’s fair to say that Babcock has a vested interest in being the mayor.”

  “But does he want that enough to murder for the office?” Bee asked.

  “That’s what we have to find out.” I started up the engine and waited for it to warm up. The windshield misted from the heat, and, once again, I cracked a window.

  “Why don’t we head to the Lobster Shack?” Be
e asked. “I’m starved, and I heard they’re doing a hot lobster chowder. Millie raved about it the other night, and I’ve had a hankering ever since.”

  “Sounds great!”

  Fifteen minutes later, we had a spot next to the windows that looked out on the gorgeous cove and the choppy waters. The inside of the Lobster Shack was decorated with buoys and had a rustic feel, but the food was absolutely exquisite.

  I lifted my menu off the table and perused. Chowder was great, but I was always looking for something new to try.

  “Ooh, this lobster melt looks delicious,” I said, tapping the menu card. “What do you think?”

  “We should get fried clams for starters.” Bee licked her lips. “I’m so hungry I can barely think straight.”

  Right on cue, the waiter appeared to serve us. She took our orders with a smile and returned shortly after with a breadbasket, a soda for me, and a chocolate milkshake for Bee.

  I sipped my soda, turning toward the window and propping my chin in my hand. Maine was so gorgeous, I’d miss it once we were gone. Only a few more weeks, and we’d be on our way out onto another small town, shoot, maybe even another state.

  “Getting sad?” Bee asked, between slurps of her milkshake.

  “A little. Maybe.”

  “Don’t be. We’re going on another adventure. And we have each other.”

  I met Bee’s gaze and grinned. It was good to have a friend like her. Honestly, she was the first person I’d relied on in a long time. Since Daniel had broken my trust entirely and proven to me that most of the time, people couldn’t be trusted.

  Some of them. I trusted Sam. And Shawn. And perhaps even Detective Martin—though that was debatable. I trusted him as a person, but did I trust him as a detective? Of course. To a certain extent. But I itched to figure out what had happened to Mayor Jacobsen.

  That was likely because I had the ever-present urge to find out the truth. Peel back the layers of—

  “Are you all right?” Bee asked. “You haven’t touched the garlic bread.”

  I chuckled. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about the mayor.” I lifted a slice of bread out of the basket. It was stringy with cheese and dripping golden butter.