The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Rosie A. Point

  I met my best friend’s gaze. “Bee.”

  “Ruby.”

  And just like that, the agreement was made. We’d find those guns, and then we’d called the police, and Van would be locked up for what he’d done. If only we’d come to this conclusion sooner. But here, we had a real-life witness who had heard things and seen things and could place Van at the crime scene with a motive on the day of the murder.

  Now came the hard part.

  20

  Night had finally fallen on a day that had seen Lulu carted off to the police station and Van bragging to everyone who would listen that he had caught her, the murderer, himself and reported her to the cops.

  Needless to say, I was glad the day was over.

  And excited for what was to come.

  We hadn’t had the chance to speak to Detective Hanson face-to-face. He’d collected Lulu and taken her to the police station in the town over, and Bee and I had decided that it was best to wait before we alerted him to Van and Charlene.

  First, Charlene needed to feel safe. And second, we had to prove that what she was saying was true. It could still be an attempt to divert us from the truth on Charlene’s part—though I didn’t want to believe that. She’d been so afraid, it was difficult to believe that she’d been lying.

  Bee and I stood under the trees to the side of the office and its attached events hall, waiting. The lights were still on. Van was inside, probably bragging on all his social media account about how he’d caught a murderer.

  A door slammed, and Bee pressed a finger to her lips.

  We had to remain silent—We’d left Buddy with Lulu’s grandmother so he could sleep indoors for a night, and so he wouldn’t expose our position.

  Van appeared on the porch. He whistled under his breath, tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, and walked across the trail toward his RV. He opened the door to the cherry red vehicle and entered.

  “Now’s our chance,” Bee whispered.

  Quick as a flash, we circled the building and ran up the front steps. The door to the events hall was left open, but the adjoining office would likely be locked. Bee had assured me she had that under control, whatever that meant.

  The inside of the hall smelled like old polished wood. The lights were off, but Bee whipped out her phone and switched on her flashlight app.

  “We’d better hurry,” Bee whispered. “He might see the light in here and come to check it out.”

  “There!” The door to the office was marked clearly with a plastic plaque and a big ‘No Entry’ sign that was probably put there on Van’s insistence. It certainly suited his personality.

  Bee took something out of her pocket then handed me her phone. “You hold that. I’ve got this.” She bent and I directed the beam of light onto the lock.

  “Is that a hairpin?”

  “Yes! A useful trick a thief taught me in a bar in Calcutta,” Bee said.

  “What?!”

  “Long story.” She fiddled with the lock, sticking her tongue out between her teeth. “Come on. Almost.” A satisfying click rang out. She grabbed the doorknob and turned it. “We’re in!”

  The office was cramped and smelled strongly of sweat. I shut the door and switched on the light, blinking in the sudden brightness. The desk was tiny and there was a single filing cabinet in the corner of the room. A computer monitor that looked like the first ever produced sat on the table, bulky and yellow cream in color.

  “There’s the painting,” Bee said, walking over to a depiction of the Tomahawk Trail Campgrounds. It was fanciful, with the lake turquoise blue and the restaurant larger than life, its balcony full of people. Clearly, the artist had taken a few liberties, or the campgrounds had been painted when they’d been new.

  Bee lifted the massive painting off the wall. A medium-sized safe waited behind it.

  I handed her the note upon which I’d written the code and she tapped the buttons on the keypad. The safe door clunked open.

  “Here we go,” I whispered. “This is it.”

  Bee swung the door open and revealed three guns, laid out neatly. Pistols, all of them, and though I was no expert, I’d have hazarded a guess that one of them was the murder weapon.

  “Call Hanson,” Bee whispered.

  I switched off Bee’s flashlight app then dialed the number the detective had given us earlier on in the week.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, into the phone. “We’ll meet you outside the offices.”

  “You’re certain that door was unlocked?” Hanson asked.

  “Yes,” I lied. “It was unlocked. We just happened to come in here for a board game and we noticed it was open.” That wouldn’t explain why we’d gone in, taken the picture off the wall or found the safe, but it would have to placate him for now. “Please, come quickly.”

  “I’m on my way. Stay away from him, Miss Holmes.” His voice was warm and almost comforting.

  “Thank you. We will.” I hung up and handed Bee the phone. “He’s on his way,” I said. “We’d better get out of here.”

  “Good idea.” Bee left the painting on the floor and the safe open. We exited into the events hall and closed the door, plunging ourselves into the darkness again. Light leaked from under the office door in a thin strip.

  “He can’t have anything on Lulu if he’s heading back here,” I whispered. “I wonder if she told him what she told us?”

  “We just need to get to Charlene so she can tell him the truth. Think about it, there’s no way she’d stick around if she was a murderer. She’d run away instead.” Bee’s hand found my arm and we felt our way forward, eyes adjusting to the dark.

  A little light spilled in through the windows, but I still bumped into what was probably a pool table and cried out.

  “Shush.”

  “My hip,” I whispered. “I just bashed my—”

  The door crashed open.

  Van’s outline, bald head glistening by muted moonlight, appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?” He flipped the light switch.

  I squinted at him, my heart thudding away. “Hello, Mr. Reed,” I said. “We just came to get a game in here, that’s all. Board games. But we couldn’t find the light switch. Thanks for fixing that for us. Hah.” My words were too loud. They echoed.

  Bee let go of my arm and squared her shoulders. “Do you have Clue?”

  “What?”

  “The board game,” Bee said. “We want to play Clue.” She shifted incrementally, placing herself between Van and the office door. Shoot, if he saw the light was on in there…

  The killer’s eyes narrowed, he glanced past Bee and toward the office door. He stiffened.

  Yeah, he just noticed.

  But he was unarmed, for now, and we had… I pulled my mace out of my pocket and aimed it at him. “Don’t move a muscle! The police are on their way right now.”

  Van gave a tiger’s roar and sprinted toward me.

  “Oh no you don’t!” Bee dove for his knees and collided with them. The pair toppled over backward onto the floor.

  “Roll away!” I yelled.

  Thankfully, Bee took my advice and rolled to the left, off the sweat-streaked murderer, who had his hands up and an evil look in his eye. My finger squeezed and I unleashed the mace, bringing screams from Van instead.

  A siren whooped outside and lights flashed. Detective Hanson rushed through the door with his gun out, and I dropped the can of mace, hands raised. But he wasn’t interested in me. He brought out his cuffs, turned Van onto his front and proceeded to read him his rights.

  We were fine, relatively speaking. Bee had hurt her knees, and the mace was strong enough to make my eyes water. But it was done.

  Another murder mystery solved. What an end to our vacation.

  21

  “He’ll have a whale of a time living with me.” Bubby, Lulu’s grandmother, stood beside the Labrador who’d become our friend, her hand atop his furry head. “I’ve always wanted a dog, and heaven knows
, he’ll be better company than that no-good granddaughter of mine.”

  “How is she?” I asked, to keep myself distracted from the gathering emotion in my throat. Leaving Buddy behind was a necessity—he wouldn’t have a happy life on the road with us. We didn’t have a crate for him to travel in or a stable home to go back to. But Bubby, she could prepare adequately to look after him.

  “Who? Lulu? Good for nothing is how she is,” Bubby replied, drily. “She’s sitting in the county jail and that’s where she’ll stay until she sees a judge. And if she gets out, well, she won’t be welcome here. She could have just asked me for money.”

  “That’s too bad.” I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “You know, her own mother wanted nothing to do with her, but I opened my heart to her and this is the reward I got. Anyway,” Bubby said, bending to kiss Buddy on the head. “I’m happy now. I’ve got a real friend.”

  Bee, who’d been entirely silent until now, sniffed. She took out a Kleenex and blew her nose, noisily. “Sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be, dear,” Bubby replied. “Dogs are angels. It’s easy to get attached.”

  “Goodbye.” I bent and hugged Buddy. He whined and licked my cheek. I walked to the trail, leaving Bee space to say goodbye to the dog on her own. She’d grown to love him, and it was such a pity we couldn’t take him with us.

  That was the problem with traveling around in a food truck from town to town. We hadn’t settled down, and we couldn’t bring animals along either. That would only be traumatic for them.

  I struggled to swallow.

  “Done,” Bee said, the Kleenex now crumpled in her fist. “And we’re all packed to go too. Just have to hop in the food truck and get on the road.”

  “Right.”

  The walk back to the food truck was taken in silence. It’s green and pink striped exterior was a warm welcome, especially now our tents were packed up. A man stepped up next to it, handsome, blond and wearing a police uniform.

  “It’s the detective,” Bee said, raising an eyebrow at me. “Looks like he wants to say goodbye.”

  “Don’t start,” I whispered, but my stomach had already twisted itself into knots.

  “Morning, ladies.” Detective Hanson sauntered over.

  “Detective.” Bee nodded. “Everything all right? Did you need something from us before we leave?”

  “No, I got your statements. I don’t need anything else, but I do have your current town of residence if I need to contact you. Muffin, right? That’s not too far from here.”

  My heart pitter-pattered. How ridiculous. “Yeah,” I breathed. Really? Use more words! “I mean, yes, that’s where we’re situated at the moment.”

  “Good. That’s great.” Hanson stared at me. “Yeah, we’ve got our man. Van’s confessed to the murder, and Charlene has been helpful too. Van will be going away for a long time. Life probably.”

  “Awesome.” I coughed. “Sorry, poor word choice. I’m glad justice has been served.”

  “Me too,” Bee said.

  “I wanted to thank you ladies for doing what you did. Officially, that’s listening out and being aware. Unofficially…” He trailed off and winked at us. “Thanks for the help. We had a little trouble seeing the wood for the trees on this one.”

  The wink had disarmed me.

  Hanson laughed. “Have a safe trip. Maybe I’ll see you in Muffin sometime. My grandmother lives there, and I’ve been thinking of paying her a visit. Now, I might have some extra motivation.” He waved then walked off, pausing once to look back at us. Or at me.

  “He’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer,” Bee said.

  “Huh?”

  “He was flirting with you.”

  “No, he was just thanking us.”

  Bee patted me on the shoulder. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Rubes.”

  I watched the detective until he disappeared around the bend. Finally, my breathing steadied. I wasn’t interested in him. I couldn’t be, not after what had happened with my ex and—

  “Ready to go?” Bee called from the front of the food truck.

  “Right. Yeah. Let’s go.”

  “Back to Muffin,” Bee said, as she got into the truck. “Let’s hope it’s murder-free.”

  Murder? I was more worried about the handsome detective turning up unannounced.

  I got into the food truck, burying my nerves. In a way, I’d miss the campground, just not all the drama that had come with our vacation. It was back to work, back to baking, back to doing what we did best.

  Avoiding trouble. Hah! No, just baking and being friends.

  Ruby and Bee’s story continues on the next page…

  Book 9: Candy Cake Murder

  Meet the Characters

  Ruby Holmes: The owner of the Bite-sized Bakery Food Truck, she’s friendly but always on the move because she doesn’t want to settle down in one place. She’s squeamish, curious, and used to be an investigative journalist.

  Beatrice (Bee) Pine: Ruby’s best friend and the baking genius who whips up the treats on the truck. She was a police officer and is incurably inquisitive. When there’s murder or mystery afoot, she’s the first one on the case.

  Mrs. Rickleston: The owner of the Runaway Inn in Muffin, Massachusetts. An elderly woman with a grudge against a local nail technician, she’s sweet and salty rolled into one.

  Detective Jamie Hanson: A detective the duo met at the Tomahawk Trail Campgrounds—he’s got a grandmother in Muffin and has decided to come visit her. Too handsome for his own good.

  Detective Wilkes: The detective who handles many of the cases in Muffin and who’s often suspicious of how Ruby and Bee behave. He’s a good cop and always trying to do the right thing.

  Lucy Cornwall: Nail technician at the Hashtag Nailed It salon in Muffin. She’s spunky, with streaks of purple in her hair and an ‘out-there’ sense of style. She’s always ready for a gossip session.

  1

  “Is everyone in position?” Violet Keller, the host of the surprise birthday party called from the front doors of her mansion. “She’s going to arrive soon. You there, catering ladies, make sure you’re ready with the cupcakes. I want her to have one the minute she walks in. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Keller.” I lifted my tray of cupcakes so she could see them.

  Bee didn’t do the same. She grumbled under her breath at being lectured, and I didn’t blame her. We’d spent all afternoon baking cupcakes in the kitchen of Violet’s upscale home in Muffin, Massachusetts and, for once, it hadn’t been fun.

  The hostess had swept into the kitchen and interfered several times, forcing us to take breaks or give her a taste of a cupcake or to ensure that the candy sprinkles were just the right flavor and texture to suit the strawberry buttercream frosting. All the while, she’d fluffed her puffy red hair and made comments about how she’d have done this all herself if she only had the time—that had, of course, annoyed Bee to no end.

  But this was our first big job since arriving back in Muffin after our little campground vacation. We had agreed we wanted to make a good impression on these ladies.

  “Is everyone ready with their knitting needles?” Violet scanned the room of celebrators. She was the head of Muffin Knit It Good Club, and most of the attendees were members as well. Women all around the grand entryway and through to the living room, held their knitting needles aloft and clicked them together.

  “You can’t tell me you’re not a little bit creeped out by this,” Bee whispered, as the clicking ensued. “Look at them all. They look like they’re about to have a feast.”

  “They are. A feast of cupcakes.” I lifted the tray.

  Bee rolled her eyes. She held two cupcakes on her tray. They were the ‘special’ cupcakes. One for Violet, marked with star sprinkles, and one for the birthday girl, Moira, with moon sprinkles.

  “She’s coming! Quiet, ladies, quiet!” Violet hit the lights and we were plunged into gloom. Nobody moved.

  For a m
oment, I was back in Maine in the Oceanside Guesthouse and it was my surprise party—and the day one of the guests had been killed and found strewn across the gifts table.

  I shook my head, clearing it of the horrible image, and focusing on the present. Everything was great. We’d been back in Muffin for two weeks without incident, serving people on the food truck, parked next to the duck pond every day.

  The front doors opened, and two figures entered.

  “Surprise!” The lights flicked on, and the newcomers were cast into sharp relief.

  One was Moira for sure, she wore a pink pashmina and her gray hair in curls, and the other—

  My stomach dropped then lifted and fluttered like it had spontaneously filled with bees.

  “Is that…?” Bee trailed off.

  A man had entered with Moira—handsome, blond and stocky, with a slightly crooked nose as if it had been broken before and bright green eyes. It was Detective Hanson, the police officer who we’d met back at the Tomahawk Trail Campgrounds during our vacation. The same man who’d winked at me before we’d left.

  My face grew hot.

  Bee nudged me. “We’d better start serving these cupcakes.” I didn’t dare look at her—she’d be grinning from ear-to-ear. “You know what? You take these.” Bee handed me the tray of two special cupcakes for Moira and Violet. “It’ll be more interesting if you serve the birthday girl.” She took my tray and hurried off through the crowd to serve them to the other knitting club ladies.

  I swallowed.

  This is silly. He’s just some guy.

  And I had a job to do—bringing the sparkly cupcakes to the hostess and the ‘birthday girl.’ I drew my shoulders back and walked toward the three people near the front doors, my heels clicking on the marble flooring.

  I smiled and presented the tray. “Happy Birthday, Moira.”