A Fatal Finale

  A Fatal Finale

  A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery

  Stacey Alabaster

  Fairfield Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 Fairfield Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Message to Readers

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  Thank you so much for buying my book. I am excited to share my stories with you and hope that you are just as thrilled to read them.

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  Prologue

  Bouquet? Check. Limo on the way? Check? Groom waiting at the end of the aisle? Unfortunately, also a check. See, it was the happiest day of my life. Only at that moment, I didn’t feel happy. I felt in a state of utter panic.

  “I need help!” I shouted, trying to get the back of my dress to stay together. It was a complicated system of hooks and buttons that the dressmaker had made look so simple when she’d shown it to me in the shop. But now, on my big day, none of the three dozen buttons would go through the three dozen holes.

  How could a bride walk down the aisle without a dress on? I started to look around the room—my new house, but still slightly foreign to me—for some kind of pins. Or duct tape. Or staples. I didn’t care. I just needed this dress to hold.

  Suddenly, there was a pack of sweet but worried faces at the door—all looking almost as alarmed as I was. “What’s happened?” my cousin Lacy asked me, clutching her bouquet, her hair lacquered in place by an entire can of hairspray. Carine and Sue were behind her.

  Three bridesmaids, all dressed in light pink. I was lucky they had all agreed to that shade. It was a little ‘nude’ in color on the lightest girl, Carine, who had gone to the tanning salon and asked for the darkest shade they had. And she still looked pale.

  “I think it must be too tight,” I gasped, trying to suck in my stomach as Sue used all her might to get the buttons through the holes. “I must have overeaten since the final fitting.” It had only been three days, but a lot could happen in three days, right?

  I was starting to sweat. “Is it hot in here?” What if we couldn’t get the buttons all hooked up? Lacy got out a hand-fan and started to wave it at my face, bringing little relief. She gave up and popped a window open instead. “Don’t worry,” she said with a tight smile. “We’ll get it on.”

  If only Pippa were here.

  Pippa knew how to pick a lock. I was sure she’d be able to figure out how to fasten a wedding dress.

  Sue let go of the dress and doubled over in resignation. Out of breath, she apologized. She’d done her best and failed.

  Maybe it was fate. Maybe I was never supposed to walk down the aisle that day.

  There was a text on my phone. “Uh oh,” I said when I saw the name pop up. “Should I check that?”

  I knew you weren’t supposed to see the groom before the wedding, but did texting count? Sue grabbed it out of my hands. “No. You’re not speaking to him until you take your vows. Now, let me have another go at this dress.”

  I tried to breathe in again, hoping that would help the buttons to slip in, but the problem was less about my girth and more that the buttons simply did not want to go through the loops. By this point, I was sure that the dress had just been badly designed and I demanded that Lacy get the dressmaker on the phone so I could get my money back. Or a new dress. Anything.

  “I’ll get help,” Sue said, trying to stay calm. She promised me she would delay the photographers and let the limo driver know that it would still be a while before we were ready to be driven to the chapel. Carine and Lacy eagerly followed her, neither wanting to be stuck with the bridezilla having a breakdown in her room.

  But as soon as I was left alone, I picked my phone back up. Not to text my groom-to-be, to let him know I was running very unfashionably late, but to check my electronic RSVPs.

  Still no reply.

  That was it, then.

  I sat down and stared at my empty inbox, my dress falling open at the back and hanging off my shoulders. I knew I shouldn’t, but I googled “Belldale bakery murder.” Just to check. Again, nothing.

  I turned my phone off.

  All this time…the one mystery I had never been able to solve.

  I stood up and picked up the hem of the dress, walking to the window and pushing it open as far as it would go. I took a deep breath. This time, I could feel the breeze as I stared out into the garden and the lake beyond. My new home. I couldn’t let the past ruin what was right in front of me.

  I glanced at the clock over my shoulder and thought about where the boys would be. They would have finished getting into their suits and tying their ties ages ago. Their limo would have already picked them up and dropped them at the chapel. My groom would be waiting nervously at the end of the aisle, wondering if I was even going to show. I wanted to text him. Of course I am coming. Just hang on.

  My heart began to pound. Where was Sue with this help she told me she was getting?

  The garden was beautiful—rosebushes and hedges that lined a lake leading into wetlands with ducks and swans. The cottage was everything I had ever dreamed of. And I was marrying the man I was in love with.

  It didn’t matter that other things were missing. It couldn’t. Not on that day. I’d left Belldale and everything connected to my bakery—and detective work—behind. That was my past and living here in Lakes Entrance with my new husband was my future.

  “Finally,” I said, taking a deep breath as I heard the door open. “Sue, what took…”

  I gasped as I turned around.

  There was a person standing in the doorway all right. But it wasn’t Sue.

  1

  One Year Earlier

  I felt like I was on the edge of a warzone. I was just trying not to become a casualty. “What have we done here?” I whispered, hanging back at the door of the bakery kitchen so I was just out of sight. I didn’t want a hot baking tray to come flying at my face.

  “I think we may have started something of a civil war,” Pippa whispered back, but there was a hint of amusement. At least someone found it funny that our employees were so hostile to each other that they were actually throwing scalding hot objects around the kitchen. But when I stopped and thought about it—and saw the ridiculous look on Bronson’s face—I had to suppress a little giggle as well.

  “I thought they were getting along now,” Pippa said, dodging a plastic bowl still filled with a hint of flour. When it hit the floor, it dusted her boots like snow.

  Well, ‘getting along’ was relative.

  It had been three weeks since the merger. My bakery—Rachael’s Boutique Bakery—had joined forces with another small bakery in town, but we’d kept the name. We’d kept my name, seeing as Blake and the staff from Dough Planet had moved into my storefront. His was far too small. At least, we’d kept the name for the time being. Blake had made it clear that was only temporary. But “Rachael and Blake’s Boutique Bakery” w
as far too much of a mouthful. We were going to have to think of a compromise, but neither of us were too good at that. We were both young entrepreneurs, me in my late 20s and Blake still in his early 20s, who had built businesses from scratch. Neither of us wanted to lose our autonomy.

  It wasn’t just the name that was causing hassles. The staff we were allegedly in control of weren’t too happy about being joined together to make one big stepfamily. On Blake’s side, he had brought himself and one of his bakers, Laura, who was currently injured with a wrist sprain. On my side, I had myself, Pippa, my store manager Simona, and my apprentice baker Bronson. My side, just like my shop, was the largest. It kind of felt like it gave me the upper hand.

  Still, the balance might have been okay—might have—except I had made the decision that we needed an extra baker on deck now that we had expanded. That was where Rogan had come in.

  I’d put it like this to Blake when I’d brought the idea to him. “It’s like we have all these stepchildren, right? Well, wouldn’t it be good if we had one of our own? To bridge the divide?”

  Blake had just stared at me like I had gone crazy. “One of our own? Don’t you think these so-called stepchildren will resent this newcomer? Don’t you think that will just make matters worse?”

  I’d thought he was being silly, and that Rogan’s arrival would actually bring the little baking family together.

  But Blake had been right. I just didn’t want to admit it. Not only were the stepkids still feuding with each other, they had turned on the new guy right away. Bronson treated him like an annoying brother he was in competition with. Simona treated him like her personal slave. And Laura… Well, Laura was just relieved to have someone to boss around while her wrist healed. But she still looked down on poor Rogan, like he was a fly she just wanted to swat away.

  Laura was sitting on a stool, resting her arm, while she barked directions at Bronson and Rogan. Bronson, annoyed, tossed a beater into the sink and stomped out. “They are toddlers really, aren’t they?” I had to laugh as I backed away and returned to the front of the store, where I hoped our dine-in customers couldn’t hear the kerfuffle. They would all settle down soon enough. It had only been a few weeks. Teething problems were to be expected.

  I smiled to myself as I cleaned the coffee machine and Pippa flipped through a magazine. If all I had to worry about were a few little scuffles at work, that was fine by me. Life in Belldale had been all peace and quiet as of late—no murders, no deaths, and no reason for me to investigate any suspicious activity. I was enjoying the break.

  “You really sure you’re not bored?” Pippa asked me later that evening after I’d dropped her off at her purple farmhouse on the edge of town and she’d invited me in for tea.

  I shook my head. “Definitely not,” I said firmly. I blew on my ginger and chamomile tea.

  Pippa tapped her nails on the kitchen counter. Her hair was colored in swirls of blue and purple that week, she called it unicorn style. “So. Just running the bakery is enough for you?” She sounded skeptical.

  “At the moment, it is more than enough!” I had to wonder if she’d missed the flying pans and trays that morning. “It’s like running a circus.”

  Pippa shrugged a little. “Supervising unruly staff and solving mysteries are two entirely different things. One can’t necessarily replace the other,” she said sagely as she stared at me over her steaming cup.

  She had a point. Deep down, I had to admit that I’d miss solving murders if I gave it up all together. But the fact was I couldn’t keep balancing the two halves of my life. Running a bakery had been my dream since I was a young girl. And solving mysteries took me away from that. It had a strong pull. It was all-consuming. But so was baking. Even though they were two halves, somehow they had failed to make a whole.

  I watched the sun set slowly as I made my way home, driving across town. If I couldn’t make my mind up between baking and detective work, then maybe it was time for something new entirely.

  Once everything settled down with the toddlers, of course.

  The next morning, I glanced up at the sign above the bakery and frowned, mulling it over. Maybe we didn’t have to extend the name, which made it unmanageable. “Rachael and Blake’s…” Maybe we could just switch one of the names for the other. Maybe the best compromise was to walk away entirely.

  “Blake,” I said. “Can I talk to you about something?”

  Blake was only 24 years old, and he had a very young, hip look to him—tight black jeans, hair that was just as black and always slicked back, and a perfectly sculptured beard. But his personality clashed with that look. Inside, he was a serious guy, and he had a strong head for business. He’d started his own business, Dough Planet, when he was only 22 and it had been such a huge success that he’d needed to expand and go into business with someone else. Me.

  He nodded and put on his apron, ready to start his shift. He was on the coffee machine that morning. His specialty. “Good. Because I have been wanting to talk to you about the name change. I have a few options to run past you…”

  I stopped him. “Or you could keep the name—”

  He rolled his eyes slightly. “Oh, not this again. I’ve told you, Rachael…”

  “Keep it the same, but just remove mine from it,” I said, gently cutting him off. “Switch Rachael for Blake.” I held my breath a little, waiting for his response.

  It took a moment or two for him to process what I was getting at. I wasn’t sure what his reaction was going to be at first, but I’d at least expected him to be interested. Maybe happy. Definitely open to it.

  “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about bailing on me so soon?” he asked, trying to untie his apron. But a glance at the knot showed me that he had only managed to make it tighter.

  “The merger was almost a month ago now…”

  “And still things have not settled.”

  “They will, though. We just have to find a way to unite the staff.”

  “Well, maybe you should never have hired Rogan,” Blake said. His eyes had started to blaze a little. “He is the one causing most of the tension.”

  “Well, I can’t just get rid of him, can I?” I asked. “That wouldn’t solve all of the problems.”

  “I don’t know,” Blake said stubbornly. “Maybe getting rid of him would be a good idea.”

  I turned to flounce away, but called back over my shoulder. “If you want to get rid of him, you’ll have to be the one to do it, Blake!”

  I pulled another tray of blueberry muffins out of the oven so violently that one of them fell to the ground. I threw it in the garbage. Fine. Maybe it was too soon for any major changes. I sighed and dabbed at my hot brow with a tea towel. I couldn’t just leave in the midst of all the infighting. First, I had to make things right between everyone. Once I had done that, then I could think about making some big changes in both my personal and professional life.

  Once the muffins had cooled, I began to move them to a tray and dusted them with icing sugar, pricing them at three dollars each or two dollars if purchased with a coffee.

  As for making things right, I had a plan for how to make that happen. I watched the icing slide down the muffins and smiled to myself. Parties always brought people together, right? I was about to throw the best party that Rachael’s Boutique Bakery had ever seen.

  And all my employees were going to have the time of their lives.

  “Don’t you think we could have chosen somewhere a bit more glamorous than the bakery where we all work?” Simona grumbled as she continued to set the table with plates and cutlery. Fine. She wasn’t quite having the time of her life, so far. But the night was still early.

  I kept a smile on my face—someone had to steer the ship in the right direction. It was early in the evening, but things were still a little tense. Partially because we all needed to pitch in to get things organized, and Simona and Bronson in particular had the attitude that they needed to be waited on hand and foot. I’d already notic
ed that they were giving most of the menial tasks to Rogan, even though he was a fully qualified baker, not a kitchen hand. They treated him like someone I had just hired off the street with no experience. The fact was that Rogan was the most senior member of staff, at least as far as qualifications were concerned. And I didn’t like seeing him treated this way.

  “We’re just having the food here, then we are going out for drinks and dancing at Star Bar,” I said, helping Simona with the plates.

  She perked up a bit. Star Bar was her favorite venue. I knew she spent most of her weekends there.

  After that news, there was more of a lightness to her actions and she helped set up with a spring in her step, her long black hair swinging back and forth as it skirted her waist. She was dressed up for a night club too in her little black dress with a silver belt. Though she did get bored of setting the table toward the end and told Rogan to do it, while she took a phone call outside. “Don’t worry about that,” I said to Rogan, taking the plate out of his hands. “I’ll finish up. Why don’t you help yourself to a drink?”

  Laura had already started on the booze, using her one good hand to pour herself another shot of whiskey. She held up her bandaged wrist and shrugged to show me that she would love to help out, but she just couldn’t. I just shook my head and ignored her, trying to concentrate on my own task.

  But I had to wonder who Simona was talking to in such hushed tones out front. She kept glancing over her shoulder like she was making sure that none of us were listening in on her phone call.

  I placed the last plate down and moved a little closer to the doorway. The door was open just a crack.