The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Rosie A. Point

  “It will work out,” Bee said.

  “Yes. The police will solve the case.”

  Once again, my friend shot me a look. She probably thought it was strange that I’d changed my attitude toward him so quickly, but a few lies was all it took for me when it came to handsome men.

  Hanson was suspicious.

  “The police?” Jamie pressed his hands back over his head then dropped them. “What about you two? Can’t you help me? We could check this out together.”

  Bee’s jaw dropped.

  “Mr. Hanson, you must see how this looks,” I said.

  “How what looks?”

  “We barely know each other and the minute your grandmother dies, you come here asking for our help. You don’t even seem that upset over her passing.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I am upset. I’m just… there’s a lot going on you don’t understand.”

  “If you think we’re in the business of clearing people’s names or helping them get away with crimes, then you’re wrong. We’re bakers. Nothing more and nothing less.” I raised my chin.

  “Getting away with—” Hanson lurched out of his seat. “How dare you! I’m not trying to get away with anything, and I wouldn’t do anything to harm my grandmother.”

  I folded my arms. “Right. Regardless, we’re just bakers. We don’t investigate cases and we’re not interested in—”

  “Fine.” Jamie practically growled it. “Fine. Be like that. I didn’t come here because I wanted you to cover for me. I wanted a friend. Forget it.” He stormed from the library.

  “Well,” Bee said, after a minute. “Well, that was awkward. Ruby, I’ve never seen you so fired up before. Just a few days ago you were practically offering him help. Exactly the type he just asked for.”

  “Are you on his side?”

  “I’m on the side of reason,” Bee said. “I can understand why he would ask us because we gave him the impression that he could.”

  I rolled my shoulders, relaxing a little. “You’re right. I did make a stupid offer to him and I never should have, because whether I like it or not, he could be the murderer.”

  Bee nodded slowly. “And if he is, it would have served us to keep a close eye on him, don’t you think?”

  I dropped into the armchair Hanson had vacated. “So, you think I acted rashly.”

  “Emotionally.”

  “I did, you’re right. I should have been more patient. I should have—”

  “Too late for that now,” Bee said, brushing her palms against each other. “No use crying over stale cookies. Most of the time.”

  Cookies. That reminded me—we had a truck to fetch and business to resume. Only, it would be less sweet having the food truck back knowing that poor Moira had died, and I’d just insulted her only grandson.

  Boy, this week had gotten off to a great start.

  The bright patch in our day was the food truck. We’d picked it up at noon and driven it out to our regular spot out by the duck pond at the Muffin Park. Almost immediately, a line had grown in front of the truck. The customers had had to wait while we whipped up some quick choc-chip cookies and cupcakes.

  After that, it was a free-for-all of people buying, eating, laughing and telling us how glad they were we were back in business.

  Any lingering fear I might have had over them believing we were involved was gone.

  The folks of Muffin were more interested in talking about what had happened to Moira than they were in worrying about whether we were involved.

  “I can’t believe it happened,” Shelley, the butcher’s wife said, her rosy cheeks a strange juxtaposition to her dour expression. “And the way it happened too? With knitting needles. Eugh.”

  “What?” I nearly dropped the cookie I’d been bagging for her.

  “That’s right.” She mimed lifting two knitting needles and brought her hands down on the counter. “Right through the chest. Apparently, the nurse found her like that and screamed for help. But it was already too late. It’s all over town.”

  “Are you sure?” That was horrible if it was true.

  Knitting needles.

  Violet?

  “One hundred percent sure,” Shelley continued, and mimed the stabbing again. “Jennifer from Little Tykes is Mary’s cousin, and Mary went to school with Nancy, the nurse, and Nancy told her everything, down to the last horrifying detail.”

  The mime-stabbing had made me a little queasy. Poor Moira. “Here’s your cookie.”

  “Thank you. Stay safe, Ruby. Especially now that there’s a knitting needle murderer on the loose.” She paid for her cookie and hurried off, giving way to the next customer in line.

  I served them with a smile, but my mind was on the murder instead, and I could tell from Bee’s glazed over expression that it was the same for her.

  “Good afternoon, dear.” Gertrude, the knitting club member we’d met at the nail salon, stepped up to the counter. She patted her permed hair, and her eyes were even redder than the last time we’d seen her. “How are you?”

  “I’m all right. How are you holding up?”

  “It’s terrible, it’s just terrible. Poor Moira is dead. She’s really dead. I just can’t believe it!” She burst into tears and scrambled a Kleenex out of her handbag. She dabbed furiously, her shoulders shaking, while the man in the line behind her checked his watch and rolled his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, Gertrude,” I said, and bagged up a choc-chip cookie. “Here, take this. On the house.”

  “You’re too kind,” she said, breaking into another bout of sobs. “Too kind.” She accepted the cookie and held it to her chest. “I just… everything’s falling apart. I don’t know what we’re going to do now, especially now that Violet’s gone ahead and quit the club.”

  “The knitting club?”

  “Yes! She quit. Just when we needed a leader the most, she up and quit. And she was the founder of the thing for heaven’s sake.” Gertrude choked on her tears but got herself under control. “Thank you for the cookie. You’re a sweetheart.” She shuffled off.

  The brusque man who’d been waiting his turn gave his order before she’d moved out of the way, and I set about getting it.

  “Did you hear that?” I whispered to Bee as I worked. “Violet quit the club.”

  “And knitting needles were the murder weapon.” Bee’s murmur came back. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Maybe it’s time we go have a talk with Violet. Face-to-face,” I said.

  13

  The gates of Violet Keller’s mansion stood open.

  Bee and I exchanged a glance, but she shrugged, and I drove up the long driveway that led to the mansion. I parked in the same spot I had on the day of the surprise party. One other car was parked in front of the house—a blue Honda that looked as if it has seen better days.

  “Why would she leave the gates open?” I asked, looking out the window and up at the doors. They were ajar too. “Do you think we should call the police?”

  “Let’s find out what’s going on first.”

  Bee and I got out of the truck, taking our freshly baked cupcakes with us, and headed up the grand stone steps.

  I rapped on the door, nudging it open a little more. “Hello? Mrs. Keller? Are you here?”

  “Maybe we should call someone,” Bee said. “It’s too quiet.”

  A thump, followed by a muted shout came from down the hall, and Bee set off before I could stop her. I vacillated, my knuckles white on the cupcake box, then hurried after her. Bee ducked into a room and I followed, nearly squashing the cupcakes between us when she came to an abrupt halt.

  “What—?” I peeked around my friend.

  Mrs. Keller was alive and well in the living room—seated on her duck’s egg blue sofa across from Hanson.

  Hanson? What on earth is he doing here?

  “Mrs. Keller,” Bee said. “Mr. Hanson.”

  “I told you, call me Jamie,” he replied, through gritted teeth. “What
are you two doing here?”

  “We could ask you the same question,” I said, stepping around him. I lifted the box of cupcakes. “Good evening, Mrs. Keller. How are you?”

  “Better now that you’re here,” Violet replied, pursing her lips. “This young man won’t stop hassling me about his grandmother. As if he cared about her.”

  “I loved Moira.” Hanson got up, his hands balled into fists. “And nothing you or anyone else says can change the fact that I was related to her.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. No one cares that you were related to her, Jamie. You didn’t visit her. You didn’t care a whit about her, and now that you’re in trouble, you’re back here asking for help, and the next thing we know, she’s dead. Explain that!”

  “I’m not going to stand here and listen to this.” Hanson marched for the exit, and Bee and I shifted out of his path.

  “Touchy,” Violet said. “But I suppose he must be stressed. Probably worried that the police are onto him.”

  I came forward and placed the box of cupcakes on her glass coffee table. “We brought you these,” I said. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”

  “Oh, thank you, that’s so thoughtful of you.” She scooched to edge of her seat and popped the box open. “This would go perfectly with some coffee. I’ll make us some.” She made to get up.

  “I can do it,” Bee said.

  “Oh no, no, you’re my guests.” Violet’s eyes sparkled. “I’m happy to make it.”

  A door slammed and footsteps approached. A man entered, red hair, tall and skinny, wearing a white coat.

  “Ronnie, darling,” Violet said. “There you are.”

  “Sorry, grandma,” the newcomer said, “I didn’t realize you’d have company.”

  “Don’t be silly, my dear. You live here as much as I do.” Violet opened her arms and drew her grandson into a hug. She grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him toward us. “How rude of me. Beatrice, Ruby, this is my grandson, Ronnie Keller. He’s a pharmacy technician and the apple of my eye.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Bee nodded, keeping back.

  “We’ve met before, actually. You helped me at the drug store the other day,” I said.

  “Right. Of course.” Ronnie pointed at me. “Diarrhea.”

  I blinked.

  Violet did too.

  Bee burst out laughing. “Well, Violet, he’s a charmer.”

  Violet and I chuckled too, but Ronnie looked genuinely disarmed by Bee’s reaction. As if he didn’t realize that blurting out the word ‘diarrhea’ wasn’t a normal thing to do with company present.

  “Ronnie, darling, can you make us some coffee? I’d like to spend a little time chatting with these lovely ladies.”

  “Sure, no problem, Grandma.” Ronnie sauntered from the room.

  “Sorry about that,” Violet said. “He’s in his own world most of the time. Incredibly intelligent, you know, and such a hard worker. He’s one of my most successful grandchildren.”

  “He was very helpful when I needed medicine the other day.”

  “Wonderful. Please, come sit with me.” Violet gestured to the armchairs facing her glossy coffee table.

  Bee and I took one a piece, though my friend didn’t smile while doing it. She was already on the alert—Violet, kind as she seemed, was one of the main suspects in the case. If anyone might have wanted Moira out of the way, it was her.

  But then why would she have left the knitting club right away? And why would she have been threatening Harry instead of Moira?

  “How are you?” I asked. “After what happened.”

  “I was fine until that idiot grandson of Moira’s came over here and tried to interfere. He thinks I’m stupid.”

  “What do you mean?” Bee asked.

  “Everyone knows that he only came here for money. Moira didn’t give him what he wanted and now she’s dead,” Violet said. “That’s all there is to it.”

  It was looking pretty bad for Hanson.

  “How would he get money from her?” Bee asked.

  “Well, Moira told me that she had put him as the benefactor of her life insurance policy, and she planned on putting him in her will too. I warned her not to do it, but she wouldn’t listen to sense. She was sure that he was a wonderful man because he was a detective. Then he went and lost his job. It’s a disgrace,” Violet said. “But the police will take care of him, dears, don’t you worry about it.”

  “And what about you?” I asked. “I heard you were leaving the Knit It Good Club?”

  “Oh yes,” Violet replied, sobering. “Yes, I am. I simply can’t stay in the club anymore. I loved being a part of it, but without Moira, what’s the point?”

  Ronnie entered the room carrying a tray of coffees and set them down. He joined us, and the conversation drifted away from the murder and to mundane topics—thankfully, none that involved Bee’s health issues.

  Either way, we didn’t get much else from Violet, other than the fact she was going to help organize Moira’s funeral. Any mention of Harry brought nothing but a faint smile and talk of him being a great town council president. That was all.

  Bee and I left Violet’s house frustrated.

  Something had to give.

  14

  Later that evening…

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “We could just go downstairs and have dinner.”

  “Ruby, I can tell it’s bothering you,” Bee said. “We should just get takeout and stay up here. We’ll work on the case together. You know, write up our suspect list and so on. What do you think?”

  “That sounds great.” This was the first time I’d been truly bugged by a case. All of them bothered me to a certain extent, murder was terrible, but this one had gotten under my skin. I wanted to prove Hanson was innocent. Or that he was guilty. I wasn’t sure yet.

  “Great! Well, you decide what to get. I’m going to have a bath. Meet you back here in forty-five?”

  “Sounds good to me.” I ducked out of Bee’s bedroom, which was right next to mine, and into the quaint hallway of the Runaway Inn. I fetched my purse and set off down the stairs.

  I could easily have called for takeout—Bee and I had found a Chinese place we adored—but I was in the mood for a walk. It would help me clear my mind. Or fill it with more worries.

  Besides, the weather was lovely today. The air smelled of grass, flowers, and home-cooking in suburbia, and I strolled down the sidewalk, heading for the Main Street, a smile on my face. The streets were quiet at this time of the evening. A car passed, occasionally, but other than that, it was entirely peaceful.

  I hummed under my breath, tucking my purse to my side. Even with a murder case to worry about, living in Muffin was streets better than my life had been in New York City. Not that there was anything wrong with the Big Apple. Just that here, it was easier to let go and slow down here.

  Back then I’d been so obsessed with—

  A figure stepped out of an alley up ahead and strode toward me. The person was tall and wore a balaclava.

  I stalled, midstride, holding my purse tight to my side.

  A mugger? Here? In Muffin?

  It didn’t compute. I was frozen, right up until he grabbed hold of my shoulders and pushed me backward against the brick wall of a store.

  “Hey!” I yelped. “What are you doing?”

  “Listen to me,” he growled, in a deep voice I didn’t recognize. “You stay out of it or I’m going to make you regret it.”

  Adrenaline pumped through my veins. “Get off me! Help!” I yelled.

  “Shut up.” He raised a finger and pointed it in my face. “You’re going to do what I tell you, understand? You stay out of the Moira Hanson’s case or I’ll stop you myself.”

  Green eyes. He has green eyes.

  My karate training kicked in, and I brought my hands up and punched him in the stomach. He gasped for air and back tracked, doubling over and gripping at his chest.

  “Help!” I yelled again. “Somebody, help me
.” But the street was empty, now, the buildings closed for the evening.

  My attacker turned and sprinted up the street. He vanished down an alleyway.

  “Help,” I said, one last time, then backed into the wall and grabbed it for support. My legs trembled and my body grew hot.

  Calm down, Ruby. Calm down. You’re OK. He’s gone.

  But all I could think about was the smell of his strong cologne, the hatred in his eyes, and the possibility that he might’ve been Hanson. I turned on my heel and ran back down the road, heading for the Runaway Inn.

  “We have to call the police about this,” Bee said. “They need to know what’s going on.”

  “And then what, Bee? We call them and tell them he threatened me because we’ve been snooping around again. We’ll get in trouble.”

  Bee shook her head. “I don’t like this. We should report it.”

  “I don’t want to,” I said, stubbornly. “I’m fine.”

  “It’s not about whether you’re fine or not. The guy could come back for you. He could do something worse.”

  I considered it. It was true, he could come back, but I’d be prepared, and something told me that the guy, whoever he was—heavens, I hoped it wasn’t Hanson—had been more afraid of getting caught than he had been bent on hurting me. He’d had the opportunity right there on the street and hadn’t taken it. It was an empty threat.

  “They could catch the guy if you called them now,” Bee said, and picked up her phone from the bedside table. “Come on.”

  “He’s long gone by now,” I replied. “Look, if you drop it now, I’ll go into the station tomorrow and tell them I was assaulted, but I’m not going to tell them why. All right?”

  Bee sighed.

  “All I want to do now is having something sweet to eat, order in some Chinese, and talk about the case.” Because no amount of threats would stop me from figuring this out now. If anything, the “attack” had proved we were onto something. “Do you think it was the killer?”