Candy Cake Murder

  A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 9

  Rosie A. Point

  Contents

  Meet the Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  More for you…

  Thank you, Reader!

  Also by Rosie A. Point

  Copyright Rosie A. Point 2020.

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  Created with Vellum

  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 moment, 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.”

  Detective Hanson did a double-take. “Ruby,” he said.

  “Hello.” My cheeks were already growing pink.

  “Thank you, dear,” Moira said, taking the cupcake with star sprinkles. She bit into it and chewed enthusiastically. “Delicious!”

  “Delicious?” Violet asked. “It’s a miracle you can taste a thing, you old bat.” She laughed and looped her arm through her friend’s. “Let’s go, dear, the ladies are about to put on a show.”

  “A show?” Moira asked, dropping her cupcake wrapper on my tray.

  “The Dance of the Knitting Needles,” Violet said.

  “Wonderful!”

  The women walked off without so much as a thank you, leaving me with the handsome detective. Though, was he technically a detective when he was in Muffin? He didn’t work at the local police station.

  “Ruby,” Hanson said. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” I replied. “How are you?”

  “Good. Just taking a short vacation. It’s my grandmother’s birthday.” He nodded to Moira. “I thought I’d come up and spend some time with her.”

  I nodded, slowly. “That’s nice of you.”

  An awkwardness followed, and I struggled not to stare at the man. He was even more handsome out of uniform—wavy blond hair, clean shaven, and wearing a neat button-down shirt.

  “Nice seeing you again,” I said. “I’d better get back to work.”

  “Right. Take care.” He looked as if he wanted to add something else, but I didn’t hang around to hear what it was.

  I had business to focus on. There were plenty more cupcakes to be served and Bee would need my help. Besides, Hanson was nothing more than a friend who had been kind to us during our stay at the campgrounds. There was no reason to be flustered around him or treat him differently to anyone else.

  In the kitchen, I placed the tray on the granite topped kitchen island and grabbed one of the others that lined the counters. Moira was a popular woman, and if the ladies of the knitting club enjoyed our cupcakes, we might be asked to cater other events. We could always use more business.

  “What are you doing here?” Bee asked, sweeping into the kitchen to drop off an empty tray. “You should be out there talking to Mr. Handsome.”

  “Bee, I’m not interested in men at the moment. We’re going to leave in a few weeks, so why would I be?”

  My friend sighed. “He likes you.”

  “And I like cupcakes,” I replied. “But a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.”

  “That’s a terrible metaphor for this situation.”

  I waved away her complaint. “We’re having the time of our lives in Muffin. Let’s not ruin it by overcomplicating things.”

  “Whatever you say.” One of the things I liked about Bee was that she never pressured me too much. She’d say what she had to say then move on from it rather than pressing the issue. “We’d better get out there. Those ladies need their energy—I overheard one of them say they’re about to do some sort of dance?”

  I followed my best friend out into the living room area, where the ladies had gathered in front of a table. Moira and Violet sat waiting, occasionally making a comment to one another, the setting sun visible through the window, orange among the pink clouds.

&n

bsp; “Ready ladies?” Violet called.

  The women raised their knitting needles and clicked them together.

  “This ought to be good,” Bee muttered, as we circled the group to get a better view.

  “Three, two—” Violet cut off.

  Moira had grabbed hold of the hostess’s arm. She clung to her, making strange faces.

  “Moira?” Violet turned to her friend. “Moira, dear, what’s wrong?”

  But Moira didn’t reply. She gaped, then keeled over sideways and dropped to the fancy parquet flooring, her eyes staring at nothing.

  2

  “That’s a total of… how many?” Bee asked, as she loaded another massive Tupperware container of cupcakes into the food truck.

  I didn’t answer. My mouth was dry as coconut flour. The reflection of flashing red and blue lights painted the side of our food truck, masking its cheery green and pink stripes. The odd shout rang out as police officers and medics moved in and out of the front doors of the mansion. Night had come, removing the last vestiges of the day’s warmth.

  “Nine,” Bee announced, taking another Tupperware from me. “That’s nine people who’ve died since we started working together.”

  “Could you maybe not scream that at the top of your lungs?” I scanned the front of the mansion, but the other guests had either gotten into their cars and driven off or were engaged in talking either to the police or each other. No one had heard.

  “Relax,” Bee said, dusting off her hands. “I’m just saying that we’re magnets for mystery and mayhem, that’s all. Or maybe it’s the universe’s way of telling us that we should have been a detective duo.”

  I shook my head. “Bee. She’s not even dead. And it wasn’t a murder. She just had a heart attack or something.”

  “That’s what they think now, but it’s still suspicious. She just happens to fall over the minute they’re about to start their little dance?” Bee asked. “I don’t like it. Look at all the statements the police are taking—they must know something we don’t.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, the EMS guys would have told them what was wrong. And if it’s a suspicious cause…”

  “I’m sure you’re reading too much into it,” I said, more to comfort myself than her. Bee would greet a new mystery with excitement, whereas I’d had more than enough excitement to last me a lifetime. I was as curious as the next sleuth, but heavens, I needed a break from the intrigue. And the disaster.

  “We’ll see,” Bee said, and headed for the house. “I’ll be back in a second. I forgot my purse.”

  “All right.” I shut the side door of the food truck and circled around to the back. I leaned against it, my arms folded, watching the ebb and flow of people around the mansion.

  What if Bee was right? What if this was a murder? Then whoever had done it hadn’t pulled it off properly—poor Moira wasn’t dead. Idle wonderings about what had happened and why filled my mind.

  “—think you understand how serious I am about this.”

  I frowned and searched for the woman who’d spoken. The mansion grounds were dark, but two figures stood one side of the house. Violet—the mansion owner—with her fluffy bright red hair, and another man I didn’t recognize. He had to be in his sixties, but the skin on his face was pulled taut, and his thick silver hair glinted by the light streaming from the living room windows.

  “—can’t expect me to do that.”

  “Well, it’s more important now than it ever was. You have to.”

  The man muttered something indistinct, and I strained to hear him without moving.

  “What?!” Violet stepped forward, raising a fist. “You what?”

  “—relax.”

  “I won’t relax until you—”

  “She’s gone, Violet. She probably won’t even wake up, so why worry about it?”

  “Keep your voice down!” Violet hissed and looked around.

  I averted my gaze, feigning deafness, though my ears burned red hot. They were talking about Moira, I’d have bet my last cupcake on it, and they weren’t saying anything nice. But what did it mean? The man, whoever he was, had seemed relieved that Moira was gone, as he’d put it.

  Violet beckoned to him and they retreated under the trees that bordered her property, further from the house and out of earshot. Whatever they had to discuss, they clearly didn’t want to do it in front of the officers or the other guests.

  “Interesting,” I murmured.

  “What is?”

  I jumped and grabbed my chest. “Bee! You can’t sneak up on people like that.”

  My bestie flashed me her gap-toothed grin. “I didn’t. You were staring off into space in a trance. I even called your name on the way over. Anyway, I got my purse.” She lifted it as evidence. “And we can go.”

  “Right. Go.”

  “That’s what I said.” Bee wriggled her nose. “You OK? You look like you just saw a meat-filled donut.”

  “Eugh! That’s disgusting.”

  “Exactly. What’s going on?”

  I licked my lips. If I told Bee now, she’d want to know more. That or she’d demand we sneak off into the night and tail Violet and her mystery guy.

  “Spill it, Holmes,” Bee said, pointing at me. “I know when you’re hiding something, and you know you won’t be able to keep it from me for long.”

  “Fine.” I sighed. “But you have to promise you won’t come up with any wise ideas.”

  “Define ‘wise ideas,’ please.”

  “I’m not going spelunking in the woods again. Or tripping over anymore dead bodies.”

  Bee crossed her heart. “Hope to die.”

  That would have to be good enough for now. I told Bee what I’d just seen—Violet acting suspicious with the silver fox—and her expression transformed from curiosity to excitement.

  “I knew it!” Bee clicked her fingers. “There’s a mystery a foot. Where are they? Which way did they go?”

  “Bee. You promised. You crossed your heart.”

  She grunted and grumbled, but finally agreed to get in the truck rather than rushing off into the woods to chase down Violet. “I still think it’s suspicious,” she said, once she was settled in the passenger seat. “And if I think it’s suspicious that means the police will too.”

  “I hope you’re wrong.” I pulled out of the driveway, the mansion growing small in my rearview mirror, while thoughts of Moira and her collapse recurred.

  Surely, this wasn’t another case of malintent and murder?

  3

  I couldn’t name a better way to start the day than with a breakfast from the Runaway Inn. Mrs. Rickleston’s chefs had outdone themselves again, offering a unique breakfast menu for the week that was so good, I wanted one of everything.

  “Would you look at this,” I said, prodding the menu. “It’s unbelievable.”

  “My mouth is watering.” Bee swiveled in her seat, checking out the rest of the hungry guests. Waiters served drinks or rushed to the kitchen to put in orders, and Bee flagged one of them down.

  “Good morning, Miss Pine,” the waiter, Brody, said. “Miss Holmes. What can I get for you this morning?”

  “I’ll take the bagel with cream cheese and honey,” Bee said. “And a cup of the strongest coffee you’ve got.”

  “Absolutely. And for you, Miss Holmes?”

  This was my favorite part of owning a food truck and traveling to new places—eating different types of food. And meeting the locals. We’d already done our prep on the truck, so we could spend this breakfast hour focusing on nothing but the cuisine. Maybe, we’d pick up a great idea for a sweet treat to adapt for the truck.

  “I’ll take the chocolate French toast and an omelet. Oh, and some coffee. And then a glass of orange juice, please.” I handed him the menu.

 

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