The Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Bundle 3

“Did you just ask for a murder cake?” Bee was incredulous. A smattering of gasps and murmurs traveled through the crowd in front of the food truck. 

“A mud cake! Like chocolate?” the customer replied, aghast. “Why on earth would you think I asked for a murder cake?” 

“Recency bias,” Bee said. “Trust me, if you’d been through what we’ve been through in the last few months, you’d hear ominous signs everywhere too.” 

“We don’t have any chocolate cakes today.” I stepped up next to Bee before she terrified our first customer of the day. The line behind her stretched through Prattlebark Village’s town square and down the sidewalk. It was a great turnout, but the customers shifted in line, looking over their shoulders every now and again. 

It was odd. 

We’d sold our cakes in two small towns across the country and stopped in many others during our road trip, and I’d never seen people this… scared? Were they scared? Or was it something else? It was the first time I’d visited Vermont, so I couldn’t say that this wasn’t normal behavior. 

“Oh,” said the customer, a young woman with her hair held back in a net—a cafeteria lady at the local school, picking up something to snack on before work? “Then what do you have that’s good?” 

“Everything you desire.” Bee was deadpan. 

I nudged her gently, putting up a smile. “We’ve just arrived in town,” I explained, “and we’re waiting for our check-in time at the Oaken Branch Guesthouse. We thought we’d open up shop to see if anyone was interested.” 

“Well, we’re definitely interested,” the woman whispered. “We all are. As long as you don’t…” She pressed her lips together and jolted on the spot, glancing over her shoulder. She broke into an awkward smile. “We haven’t had any baked goods in town in a long time.” 

“You don’t have a bakery?” Bee asked. 

“No,” she breathed. “We have restaurants, but not bakeries.” 

“Oh OK.” I beamed at her. “Good thing we’re here then. We have our special Sprinkle Cake in stock.” I gestured to the glass cases. “And some crème donuts and choc-chip cookies. We’ll have more in treats once we’re all settled in.” 

“So you’re staying,” the customer whispered. 

“Yeah.” Bee tightened the straps of her apron. “Are you OK?” 

“Fine, thank you. I’ll take the Sprinkle Cake slice.” She placed a few bills on the counter, and I rang up her order while Bee delivered its sweet goodness into a pastel pink and green striped box. She handed it over. 

The customer thanked us, left us the change, then scuttled off. 

“That was weird,” Bee said. “She looked ready to jump out of her skin.” 

“You shouted at her about a murder cake.” 

“Fair point, but have you noticed that everyone else around here seems awfully—” 

“Jumpy,” I put in. “Yeah, I noticed.” 

“I wonder why?” 

Another customer had arrived, so we set aside our mild concern and fell into the rhythm of serving the good people of Prattlebark Village. It was amazing how different every town was, and how the locals acted and spoke in unique ways. 

I was excited about being in Vermont, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I missed the friends we’d made along the way. This new town was gorgeous, though. And I was sure we’d make as many friends here. 

Prattlebark Village was in a valley, surrounded by thick forest, a stream running right through it. The sidewalks were paved with slabs of stone, and the buildings in the center of town were an eclectic mix of colors, with signs hanging from their eaves denoting what each store sold. 

Our customers formed two lines, and we served them with smiles. Still, people acted strangely, from construction workers in their work gear to mothers with children in tow. All of them kept looking around like they expected someone to materialize and… what? I had no idea. 

“Thank you for your patronage,” I said, handing over another box. “Please come again. We’ll be parked out here all week.” 

“Oh no you won’t!” A voice rasped from the left of the truck, and a woman approached, wearing a pants suit, her hair done in immaculate curls that didn’t budge in the fall breeze. 

At the sight of her, the lady at the front of the queue let out a tiny squeak and dropped her box of cake. She turned and literally fled the scene as if she’d been caught stealing. The rest of the people in the lines spotted the newcomer and hurried off in different directions. Within seconds, the front of the truck was a wasteland of boxes and squashed cakes covered in sprinkles and frosting. 

The curly-haired, pants-suited woman strode through the wreckage, her heels gritting on the stone of the town square. 

She stopped in front of the window, her lips so thin they were mere lines above her chin. 

“What are you, the devil?” Bee asked. “I’ve never seen a reaction like that before, and I was a police officer.” 

“You? You must be in your eighties,” the woman said, smacking her lips. Purple lipstick? Bold choice. 

Bee rolled up her sleeves. 

I put a hand on her arm to stop what would undoubtedly become a food fight. Enough cake had been wasted today. 

“May we help you?” I asked the woman. Honestly, the way she’d cleared out the town square, I was surprised she wasn’t leaking sulfur-scented fumes. 

“Yes,” she snapped. “You can pack up your eyesore of a truck and get the heck out of my town.” 

“Your town?” Bee countered. “Who are you?” 

“Gillian McKene,” she replied. “Wife of the mayor. Restauranteur. You’re right down the road from my business, and I highly doubt you’ve gone down to the health department’s offices and applied for a permit to sell confectionary here.” 

“And why would you doubt that?” Bee asked. 

“Because sweets are prohibited in this town.” Gillian’s vicious smile showed tiny, perfectly square teeth. “Without the appropriate permits. No candies. No trick or treating, and no selling donuts.” She slapped a hand down on the truck’s counter, eyes shining. 

“All right,” Bee laughed. “All right, where are the cameras?” 

Gillian’s gleam faded. “Excuse me?” 

“Seriously, there’s got to be someone recording this. That was an Oscar worthy performance. No wait, that’s not right. Is there an award for overdramatic acting?” Bee smirked at Gillian. 

“We didn’t know special candy-selling permits were required,” I said, putting up my hands. We only had the regular one for selling food. “It was an innocent mistake. We’ll go right down to the health department offices once we’ve checked in at the guesthouse.”

“There are no innocent mistakes,” Gillian snapped, pointing a finger at Bee and then at me. “And you can bet that you won’t be getting any permits soon, if I have anything to say about it.” She sniffed. “And I always have a lot to say about it. This is my town, and you are not welcome here.” She turned on her heel and clopped off before we could say another word. 

“Well,” I sighed. “That’s a good start to the week.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Ruby,” Bee said. “We’ll show her. Get those permits and camp out here for the next month. There’s no sweeter revenge than success.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Worry twisted my gut, but I dismissed it. This was just another obstacle we’d overcome. And hey, if we couldn’t get the permit, we’d head out to the next town, right?