The Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Bundle 5

“Are you trying to ruin the party?” The whisper, ejected from between gritted teeth, had come from down the hall, heard above the hum of music. 

Bee and I exchanged a glance. My bestie stood at a steel counter in the fabulous kitchen—we were catering a birthday party in the rich suburbs of Yesterday—cradling a bowl of cream cheese frosting. I held a tray of pink sprinkled cupcakes, two feet from the sweeping arch that was the kitchen doorway. 

“Stop it,” a second voice replied. 

Both of the speakers were female. I was tempted to peek around the corner, but I didn’t want to get in trouble. Bee wiggled her gray eyebrows at me. She was always ready to cause mischief and mayhem if it would wind up satisfying her curiosity. 

I crept closer to the doorway but didn’t look out.

“I see what you’re doing, Hannah,” the first voice said. “You’re not fooling me, and you’re not fooling your father.” It was our client, the rich and incredibly spoiled Mrs. Viola Turner, talking to her daughter, Hannah. “This is your party. You’re meant to act the part.” 

“What part?” Hannah countered, sounding as snotty as her mother. “It’s my twenty-first birthday. I’m ‘sposed to be able to do what I wanna do, not what you wanna do.” 

“Wanna do? Enunciate your words!” Mrs. Turner spat. “I didn’t spend thousands upon thousands on your schooling for you to talk like a complete and utter plebeian.” 

“Do you ever stop and listen to what you’re saying?” Hannah asked. “You sound like… I don’t know, like you think you’re better than everyone else.” 

“That’s because I am better than everyone else, Hannah. And so are you. We’re a cut above the rest. We always have been, and you had better start behaving as such if you want to keep your status in this town.” 

“I couldn’t care less about my status.” 

“Then I ought to sell the G-Wagon I just bought you. Is that what you want?” 

“I don’t care.” Hannah’s tone was shaky. The threat of material punishment was too great to bear. “And you didn’t buy me the G-Wagon, anyway. Dad did. So whatever.” 

“It was on my stipulation,” Mrs. Turner replied calmly. But it sounded like a dangerous calm. 

A burst of laughter from further in the house drowned out her daughter’s reply. 

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that again, you silly little girl.” A rustle of clothing, an “oof” and a shocked cry. 

This time, I poked my head around the corner. Mrs. Viola Turner, her bleached blonde hair cascading down her back, towered over her daughter. Hannah was pressed against the wall, glaring at her mother. 

“You pushed me!” she cried. 

Neither of them had noticed me. 

“Nonsense,” her mother replied. “You tripped backward. You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself, Hannah. For a grown woman, you’re incredibly clumsy. Now, go back into the living room, and tell the guests about how well you’re doing at college.” 

Hannah stared at her mother for a millisecond, wild-eyed, before doing as she’d been told. 

Viola watched her daughter until she had turned the corner in the glossy wood-floored hall. 

I ducked back into the kitchen before she spotted me, shaking my head. I didn’t say a word until her clopping high heeled steps had retreated. 

“Holy donuts,” I whispered. “That was something else.” 

“She pushed her?” Bee stirred the cream-cheese frosting. 

I nodded. 

“Sounds to me like a murder waiting to happen.” Bee’s expression was grim. “You never can tell what’s going on behind closed doors from first impressions. Especially with rich families like this one.” 

“They seemed so pleasant when we first met them.” 

“Pleasant?” Bee snorted. “Pleasantly arrogant.” 

“Yeah, sure, but they weren’t outright rude.” 

Bee shrugged and turned to the cupcakes that needed frosting. “Seems to me like everyone at this party needs a good dose of sugar and possibly a bonk on the head. Act right before you get smacked right, that kind of thing.” 

“You know, the more time we spend together, the more I feel as if you’re straying further from your roots.” 

“My roots?” 

“As a police officer.” 

“Good heavens,” Bee replied. “Why do you think I was let go?” 

“You were let go?” I asked. “I had no idea.” 

Bee shrugged. “A story for another time.” 

I didn’t press my best friend for details. We had grown close over the past few years on the baking truck, but we respected each other’s privacy. I didn’t want to upset the friendship by prying. When Bee was ready to tell me about her past, I would listen, but, until then, I would stay in my lane and she would stay in hers. 

“Still, I think we should report what we saw out there to the police.” 

“Agreed,” Bee replied. “I’m obviously kidding about acting right and smacks and so on. I don’t like Mrs. Turner or her behavior. Not one bit. Besides, we’ve got a week or two before we leave. What better way to say goodbye than to stop a bully of a mother from doing whatever she wants?” 

I sighed. I could hardly believe we had a week left in Yesterday, Pennsylvania. I had grown to love this town and its people—murderers and bullies aside—and I would miss the Mourning Dove Guesthouse, Maddie, the owner, and the delicious food. 

“I’d better get these out to the guests,” I said, lifting the tray of pink sprinkled cupcakes—vanilla cake with cream cheese frosting colored pink, strawberry sprinkles scattered over the top. 

Bee grunted by way of reply, and I left her to her baking creations. We weren’t used to baking this late at night—though we’d made an exception during the Fourth of July celebrations a month ago—let alone on a Saturday. But when Mrs. Viola Turner, a notorious socialite and member of the Yesterday Polite Ladies Club, had come knocking, we’d taken the job. 

It was meant to be fun—a birthday party for her daughter—but so far, every time we’d brought cupcakes to the guests, they’d been ignored. Nobody was eating. 

I entered the “drawing room” as Mrs. Turner had referred to it, my chef’s shoes clunking across the expensive Persian carpets. The guests ignored me, continuing conversations that were forced and tense. The music, a gentle tinkle of classical, Debussy was my guess, filled the air. 

Yeah, not my kind of party. That was made clear by the occasional snobby stare or upturned nose. It reminded me of catering the Yesterday Debutante Ball, and sheesh, that hadn’t exactly ended well either. 

Viola, the mother from Hades, stood in the corner with her husband, Mr. Chris Turner. He looked eternally bored and aloof, in his mid-fifties, by my guess, his gaze constantly wandering to the expensive watch on his wrist. 

The guests would often sneak glances toward him—a gentle shifting of the eyes. 

Hannah stood in the center of the room, smiling brightly and entertaining as her mother had instructed, while her brother, Stark, hovered in a back corner, his dark hair hanging in front of his face. He was lanky and refused to make conversation with anyone. 

I’d have bet my last cookie that he was the black sheep of the family. 

I left the cupcake tray on the table and made a hasty escape from the drawing room. Though it wasn’t cramped, I’d started getting claustrophobic the minute I’d entered. 

I wound down the hall, thoughts moving to my boyfriend, Jamie, who was back in his hometown and had just left after a prolonged visit. How was it that he’d only be gone a few days, but I missed him already? 

You’re going to have to settle down at some point, you know. You can’t keep traveling forever. 

But the thought terrified me. What if—? 

A thump broke through my musings. I stopped, tucking my hands into the pocket of my pastel lime-and-pink striped Bite-sized Bakery apron. 

I was near the foyer, the grand front door directly ahead. 

Had I imagined that noise? Surely not. 

“Ruby?” Bee came up the intersecting hall. “There you are. I thought you got lost again.” 

I shook my head and told her what I’d heard. “I’m sure it came from the front door.” 

“At this time of night?” It was 09:00 p.m.. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. A thump. It wasn’t a knock. It was heavy. Like… something falling over.” My “not another dead body” senses were tingling again. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s probably nothing. 

“There’s only one way to find out.” Bee, as fearless as ever, marched to the front door and wrenched it open. She let out the tiniest of noises. 

I peered around her and clasped a hand over my mouth. 

Not again.