The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Rosie A. Point

  “She’s coming. Pretend I’m not here. Look the other way!” the woman hissed, her wispy white hair trembling.

  “Who’s—oh.” Bee had spotted the interloper, whoever they were, and her eyes crinkled at the corners.

  I dared to turn my head.

  Lulu strode through the campfire, this time armed with two of her books, her glasses reflecting the bonfire’s flames. From the dangerous looks the other campers were giving her, it would be better for her if she hid those books away.

  The author paused and craned her neck but didn’t find what she was looking for. She moved off to the other side of the bonfire area then disappeared into the forest.

  “She’s gone,” Bee said.

  “Thank the stars above.” The woman straightened, brushing her fingers through her hair. “I can’t handle speaking to the child now.”

  “You’re her grandmother?” I prompted.

  “Yes. Oh, I’m sorry about the ducking and hiding, but I couldn’t bear it. I need a break. I’m sure everybody needs a break from her. The people here think it’s annoying having her try to sell things to them, they should try being related to her. She expects me to read her stories and now that her mother has kicked her out…”

  “I’m Ruby,” I said, “this is Bee.”

  “Right, of course. How rude of me. I’m Delilah Moore, but everyone calls me Bubby.”

  “Lovely to meet you.” The circumstance of the meeting was strange, but the words were true. The more friends we made here the better. It would be easier to have a fun holiday without people staring us down.

  “Macaron?” Bee popped open the lid on the Tupperware, revealing a range of different colored macarons inside.

  “Oh delicious. These are my favorite.” Bubby removed a pink macaron from the box and bit into it, catching crumbs in her other palm. “Delicious. Oh wow. So, you two are the owners of that food truck?”

  “Yeah. But we’re not allowed to sell anything. We’ll probably bake for fun,” Ruby said. “I say ‘we’ but it’s all Bee. She’s the master baker. I’m just the glorified truck driver.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Rubes.”

  Before I could offer a rebuttal—I wasn’t anywhere near master baker status after nearly burning the first batch of macarons—the furry yellow-gold shape of Buddy the Lab appeared between the trees nearest us.

  He barked loudly.

  “Buddy,” I called, merrily. I loved animals.

  “No, it’s Bubby,” our new friend said, between chews.

  “Oh, no, I was talking about Ronald’s dog. Buddy. He’s over there by the trees.” I waved at the dog, but he didn’t come bounding toward us. That reminded me… we hadn’t seen Ronald tonight, and he wasn’t anywhere near the bonfire or the barbecue area.

  “Buddy. Come on, boy.” I patted my thighs.

  The dog merely barked and backtracked into the trees, wagging his tail like he’d done earlier.

  “Bee…” I frowned. “Bee, I think he wants us to follow him again.”

  “At night? That can’t be safe,” Bubby said, reaching for another macaron.

  Bee handed her the entire Tupperware with an instruction to hand them out, and we made for the tree line. Curiosity was a sword we’d died upon many times, metaphorically of course. The other way gave me the shivers.

  “Buddy,” I called again.

  “Ronald?” Bee followed up.

  “Where do you think he is? I didn’t see him at his camper when we got back from the restaurant. Did you?”

  Bee didn’t answer, but her shoulders had gone tense as they’d done the last time a mystery had been afoot. I only hoped that wasn’t the case this time.

  Don’t be ridiculous. Everything’s fine. Ronald’s fine too.

  “Buddy?”

  The dog barked and appeared between the trees. The firelight was muted here, so I brought out my cellphone and tapped on the screen to unlock it as we walked.

  Buddy’s barks intensified.

  “Flashlight?” Bee asked.

  “I’m trying, sorry, this phone is so slow. I need to get a new one.”

  “I told you we should’ve bought one before we left Muffin. You shouldn’t have left it on top of the microwave.”

  Buddy was just ahead of us now, barking so loudly I could barely hear myself think.

  “Oh, Bee, I know, but do you have to—” I tripped over a tree root and fell forward. I slammed into the ground, putting up my hands to block my fall. My cellphone cracked on stone protruding from the grass.

  “Ouch,” I hissed, on all fours. “Wow, that hurt.”

  “Ruby.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, waving a grazed palm at Bee. “But so much for that flashlight. My phone is officially broken.”

  “Ruby!”

  “What?” I sat up.

  Bee had her phone out and the flashlight app on. A beam of lithium-blue light illuminated the root I had tripped over in the dark. Except it wasn’t a root. It was a dead body.

  Ronald Brink had been shot.

  5

  I could barely think over the sound of Buddy’s now-frantic barking.

  “It’s Ronald,” I said, circling around the body. The body I had tripped over. I didn’t dare look at it or I’d faint. There’d been a point back in Maine where I’d somewhat overcome my squeamish side when it came to things like this, but this was an exceptional circumstance.

  It was the corpse of someone we knew. And I had stumbled upon it in a pitch-black forest.

  “We have to tell someone about this,” Bee said. “We have to go back and sound the alarm.”

  “Or we could call the police.” I turned my back on poor Ronald. “They can find out us here, right?”

  “Yeah,” Bee said, “but then there’s the chance that the murderer might leave the campgrounds before they get here. At least one of us needs to go back.”

  “One of us?”

  Bee nodded, firmly. “The other one needs to stay.”

  “Stay! Stay here? In the woods?”

  Buddy’s barking had died down, but he whined and snuffled around us. The dog seemed to understand that Ronald was no longer… with us. The poor little guy. I stroked his soft ears, partially for my comfort.

  “Yes. Here in the woods. One of three things can happen tonight,” Bee said, and raised the corresponding number of fingers, her other hand holding her phone steady, directing a beam of light just to the left of Ronald. “First, the murderer leaves the campground before anyone can stop them. Second, they come back to the scene of the crime to cover their tracks.”

  “What tracks?” I scanned the ground. “I didn’t see any tracks.”

  “And third,” Bee said, blowing right by my concerns, “they stay in the campground to avoid looking suspicious.”

  “OK?”

  “Ruby, one of us has to stay here to make sure they don’t return until the police get here, and to stop Buddy from going near the body, and the other one of us has to run back to events hall and tell Charlene or Van what’s happened. They’ll need to close off the campground to prevent anyone from leaving.”

  “But…” I didn’t want to say the completely selfish thing on the tip of my tongue. “I don’t want to be trapped in the dark woods with a dead body alone.” Whoops. So much for not saying it. And it had come out whiny too.

  “I’ll stay,” Bee said. “Tactically speaking, we need the person who has a working phone and flashlight to stay because they’ll be able to record anything that happens or call for help.”

  Relief coursed through my limbs and my fingertips went a little numb at the prospect of getting back to the events hall where there was light, and a fire, and safety. Though, the murderer might be hanging around there instead of here.

  “Are you going to be OK alone? Bee, it doesn’t sound like a smart idea to leave you here when someone could—”

  “There’s no time to discuss it,” Bee said, in her business-like tone. The one she used on me whenever I p
ut a little too much flour in the cookies or forgot to preheat the oven. “The police need to get here. Now.”

  “OK. Got it. I’ll head back to the events hall.” I was tempted to give my friend a hug goodbye, but I settled for an awkward pat on the shoulder before hurrying off, calling Buddy to come with me. He pattered along, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, and his eyes reflecting the moon and stars.

  “Sorry, Buddy,” I whispered, quickening my pace.

  He’d lost his owner. What on earth would happen to him now? Surely, Charlene and Van would look after him or… call a relative that might be able to come out and fetch him. The worries swirled through my mind.

  Thankfully, the events hall wasn’t too far from where we’d found Ronald—how come we hadn’t heard a gunshot? Did that mean he’d been murdered before the start of the bonfire? I jogged into the campfire area and searched the crowd of milling guests for Charlene.

  She was next to Van at the barbecue. Van spewed vitriol and she patiently listened, a false smile on her lips as she nodded or shook her head in response.

  “Charlene!” I ran over.

  “We’re in the middle of something,” Van snapped.

  I chose to ignore him and his stained vest. “Charlene, there’s been a…”

  “A what?”

  It wasn’t an accident. “A murder,” I said. “We need to close the gates.”

  Shocked gasps came from the crowd of folk gathered at the food table, piling their plates with salad and burgers. So much for being discrete about this.

  Charlene stared at me, wide-eyed. “W-what? A murder?”

  “Yes. Ronald Brink has been shot.”

  Van stiffened. A pity too because he couldn’t react in time to catch his wife before she hit the ground, out cold.

  The campgrounds had been closed.

  Everyone who was in had to stay, and no new visitors were allowed to check in until after the police had completed their preliminary investigation and taken down all the statements, evidence, and the phone numbers of those here.

  I sat on one of the logs around the bonfire, Bee at my side, both of us watching as police officers separated people from the group. The coroner had already arrived to take Ronald’s body away, and crime scene tape flittered between the trees, tugged by the wind.

  “I can’t believe this happened,” I said. “Again.”

  “I doubt this camp has had a murder in its past.”

  “I’m talking about us. Another murder. It’s like we find dead bodies wherever we go.”

  “Yeah, maybe don’t tell the detectives that when they come to interview us.”

  “Good point,” I said, and shivered, rubbing my arms.

  Every time we settled into a rhythm in a place, something awful would happen and we’d wind up either getting blamed for it or getting involved. Not this time, though. We didn’t technically have to get involved.

  “Bee,” I started.

  “I’m not going to do anything,” she said, cutting me off before I could get there. “Though, you have to admit that it’s pretty suspicious Ronald’s dead after seeing him argue with Lulu this afternoon.”

  “Bee.”

  “I’m telling you, Ruby, I’m not going to do anything.” But Bee loved investigating these types of things. It was the ex-detective in her. She probably longed to piece the puzzle together, and I doubted baking excited her as much as collaring a killer did. “We’re here to enjoy our vacation,” she said. “I’m serious about us taking a break. We’re taking time off from everything, that includes clues and murder investigations.”

  Bee’s hazel eyes flicked back and forth as they roved over the gathered groups of people, waiting to be interviewed. Most of the campers who had come to enjoy their time at Tomahawk Trail were pale or shocked, a few of them had placed their plates of food on the ground beside them, forgotten.

  Van and Charlene had disappeared into the campground’s office with the lead detective on the case.

  I wonder what he’s asking them.

  Now, why did that matter? Bee had said she wouldn’t get involved and it was up to me to do the same.

  “Tomorrow,” Bee said, “we’ll go for a walk. Or we can go swimming. Take a boat out on the lake, you know?”

  “And read. We can read.”

  “You’d better keep your voice down. Lulu might here you.” Bee nudged me.

  But that only brought me back to Lulu and Ronald’s argument this afternoon. Why had they hated each other so much? I could understand Ronald’s irritation at being sold to, but to get that angry? It didn’t make sense to me. What if there was more—?

  Bee whistled under her breath. “Would you look at him.”

  The office’s front door had opened again, and Van stood on the porch talking to the detective. The exceptionally attractive detective. Muscular arms, blond hair cropped close to his scalp, and sparkling eyes that were fixed on his target. He was probably around my age, just past thirty-five, and boy, did he wear every one of those years well.

  My cheeks heated, and I shifted my focus to the fire instead.

  “He looks like… if that Thor guy and Ryan Reynold had a baby, and that baby married George Clooney, and they had a baby, and then—”

  “All right, all right.”

  “Getting a little hot under the collar, are we?” Bee rubbed her palms together. “It’s my turn to tease you about a man. Hah. This is going to be fun.”

  “Really, Beatrice, a man has just lost his life.”

  “And you’re about to lose your focus.”

  “Huh?”

  “Detective Sparkly Eyes is coming right this way,” Bee said, and waved at the approaching officer.

  He was even prettier close up. Not that it mattered. He was here to do a job and we were here to relax and not blush the color of sun-ripened tomatoes.

  “Good even, ladies,” he said. “I’m Detective Hanson.” His voice was melting butter on a croissant.

  “Beatrice Pine.” Bee got up.

  “Please, don’t stand on my account.”

  “Then you should sit with us instead,” Bee said, gesturing to the empty spot on the log.

  “Don’t mind if I do, thank you.” The detective moseyed on over and lowered himself next to me.

  I immediately caught a whiff of his cologne—lemony and refreshingly masculine. I shifted until there was more than enough space between us.

  “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t catch your name?” the detective asked, as he removed his notepad and pen from his pocket.

  “Her name is Ruby,” Bee said, the gap between her two front teeth on full display in a devilish grin.

  “Ruby Holmes.” I cleared my throat. “It’s nice to meet you Detective Handsome.” The reality of what I’d said hit milliseconds after the words had left my lips. I pressed a hand over them, my cheeks not hot anymore. They were on fire.

  Bee laughed.

  “It’s Hanson, ma’am, but thanks for the ego boost.” He flipped through a few pages on his pad. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

  I dropped my hand into my lap but didn’t trust myself to speak.

  “As I understand it, you two were the ones to find the body?” he asked.

  “That’s correct.” Bee would be doing all the talking this time around. I didn’t need to embarrass myself more than I already had.

  It wasn’t as if I had any interest in the guy, anyway. He was just cute. And tall. I’d already had my fair share of love trouble with Daniel, me ex-fiancé.

  “I’ll have one of the other officers take a more detailed statement in a few moments,” Hanson said, “but I’d like to speak to you about what you saw before then. Just get a few notes and details down. Tell me what happened, as it happened.”

  Bee told the detective all about Buddy—whom Charlene had taken away to have a snack in the office—and our trek through the woods. She included the fact that I’d tripped over the body, not skipping any of the details.

  That was probably a
good thing. The last thing we needed was for a forensic scientist to find my hair or DNA on Ronald’s body and name me as a suspect.

  “What about you, Miss Holmes,” Hanson said. “Anything to add?”

  “Not really. I got a fright when we found the body, but… well, we didn’t see anything in the area where we found Ronald. We did notice that he got into an argument with one of the other campers earlier in the day, though.”

  Bee clicked her fingers, nodding at me for bringing it up.

  “Oh? Do you know their name?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Lulu Moore. I’m not sure which lot she’s parked in, but they were arguing loudly for a pretty long time.”

  “Give me more detail about that.”

  He was bossy, this detective, and I was torn between liking that and being annoyed. It was far easier to be annoyed with a handsome detective than to have a crush on him. That way, I could keep a distance between myself and my silly feelings.

  I broke down the fight from earlier in the afternoon. Detective Hanson took notes then thanked us both for our time and asked us to wait a little longer while he got someone to take down our full statements. Bee checked him out, shamelessly, as he walked away, all while I stared into the embers that had been the fire.

  After we’d given our statements, we’d be done for the night. We could get back to enjoying our vacation.

  Assuming no one else drops dead.

  6

  The next morning, the sun was bight, the birds were chirping, and the campers were quiet as the grave, probably because everyone had either gone to bed late because they’d been waiting to speak to the cops, or they’d stayed up anyway, gossiping among themselves.

  I yawned for the fiftieth time outside of the food truck, my butt firmly ensconced in one of the camping chairs we’d brought with us, and my Kindle on my lap. I’d been so determined to tuck into a mystery novel this morning, but every time I read a line, my eyes drooped or my stomach growled.

  It was 9 am and we hadn’t gone out to eat anything yet. Bee was using the bathroom facilities, freshening up.

  The smell of grass and trees, and the gentle waft of flowers nearby, was pleasant. The lazy buzz of a bee lulled me, and my eyelids drifted open and shut, open and shut.