Til a Death Do Us Part: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery

  Til a Death Do Us Part

  A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery

  Stacey Alabaster

  Fairfield Publishing

  Contents

  Copyright

  Message to Readers

  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

  Thank You!

  Copyright © 2016 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.

  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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  Chapter 1

  I've always loved a wedding. The spectacle, the flowers, the love between a bride and a groom pledging their devotion to each other for a lifetime...and the cake.

  And I've always loved a wedding reality TV show. I was glad I'd brought my laptop into work so I could watch Wedding Hunters while the bakery was empty. Again.

  I was already on my fourth episode of the morning when I heard footsteps heading towards the door. I quickly slammed the laptop shut and grabbed my reading glasses, pretending I was busily going over the staff schedule. More like cutting the staff's hours, considering that we had no customers.

  "Oh, Pippa, hello," I said to my best friend and assistant manager at Rachael's Boutique Bakery.

  Pippa waltzed into the office and dumped a pile of envelopes on my desk.

  I groaned. "You know what my policy is about overdue bills," I said glibly. "Ignore them until they go away."

  "Ignore them until the debt collectors come knocking. Or calling," she said with a nod towards my phone. A blocked number was trying to get through to me. I swallowed and ignored it. The fifth one for the day.

  "Okay," I said with a heavy sigh. "You're right. We've got to do something about this."

  I leaned sideways so I could see past her to the front of the bakery. "Fall is supposed to be our busiest time of the year," I said forlornly.

  "Well, maybe it would be this time too if we hadn't had our mind on other things for the past few months."

  More like the last year. I blinked slowly and exhaled. She was right. Too much sleuthing, not enough baking. Guilt clawed at my stomach as I thought about my nana. What would she say if she could see me now, my bakery empty in the front while I drowned in a sea of bills in the back? Hiding from it all, no less.

  I glanced up at Pippa. "You got any ideas?"

  She nodded and handed over a bunch of flyers decorated in purple and white. Purple was her color and the paper matched the current shade of her hair.

  "When did you get these printed?" I asked, impressed by the quality, but slightly less impressed by the content.

  "Soon after we arrived back from vacation and I saw that the bakery had turned into a wasteland," Pippa replied. "But I wasn't sure you'd agree to it."

  I placed the flyers down. "I'm not sure I will, either." I stared at them with a blank expression.

  "We've done catering before," Pippa said tentatively.

  I looked at her. "We've hosted events," I corrected her. "Yeah, we catered them, but they were held here in the bakery." I glanced at the flyers like they were venomous. "We've never gone out on the road in a van like traveling salesmen."

  Pippa rolled her eyes a little and sat down across from me with a smile. "It wouldn't be like that," she said. "And it wouldn't have to be every day. We could just do it on weekends, while the bakery is closed."

  I stared at her with my jaw wide open. "You mean work six or seven day weeks?"

  Pippa burst out laughing. "I never knew you were such a lazy-bones, Rachael Robinson! When you first opened this bakery, you used to work sixty-hour weeks just to get it established."

  I sighed and leaned back in my chair so that it was balancing on only two legs. She was right—I had gotten lazy. I glanced at the pile of bright purple fliers again. A little hard work never killed anyone, right? And times were tough, we needed to do whatever it took to survive. Looks like we were going to become mobile caterers on the weekends. Oh well, it wasn’t like I had a boyfriend to spend time with or anything. What else was I doing with my weekends that was so interesting?

  "Fine," I said, leaning forward so that the chair slammed back onto the concrete floor of the office. "You got any leads for us yet?"

  Not expecting her to have any, I was surprised when Pippa nodded.

  "You're kidding. You've already been scrounging around for catering jobs?" I asked, a teeny bit offended that she'd done it without even getting my approval. Yet also kind of relieved that we might have a little bit of extra money coming in.

  "I've put the feelers out," Pippa said good-naturedly. "Just in case you said yes. And there's a big event this weekend that I think could be very lucrative."

  She looked away from me and focused on the concrete floor, which I didn't take as a good sign.

  "What is it?" I asked grimly.

  Pippa looked back at me and cringed apologetically. "It's a funeral," she said. "You're used to dead bodies by now. It shouldn't be a problem for you."

  I smiled glumly at her. "Great," I said. "Bring on the funeral."

  I glanced down at our uniforms. "Should we really be wearing bright pink to a funeral?" I whispered to Pippa as we unloaded our supplies from the van that Pippa's husband Marcello had borrowed for us. The funeral was a small affair, only about fifty people or so, and it was mainly just cakes and lemon bars, making it a good way for us to find our sea legs. The funeral was in honor of old Mrs. Manson, a nursing home resident who'd been a loyal customer of the bakery before she'd become too ill to care for herself a year earlier and checked into Belldale Senior Living.

  Pippa shrugged. "It's our shop colors. It's our brand. We need to get our name out there and get established."

  I pulled a cart out from the back of the van and dragged it along after Pippa as we headed into the back of the church building. "We're only doing this catering thing temporarily, remember?" I glanced down at my hot pink shirt and white apron. "And I still think we ought to have worn black."

  "I honestly think a monkey could have done this," I said as I started transferring yet another tray of lemon bars from our cart onto the lined trays of the church hall. The funeral service was taking place on the other side of the hall, so we had about an hour to set up. We could have done it in ten minutes but we were stretching it out.

  "A monkey couldn't have baked those bars," Pippa said in a jolly tone.

  "They might have been able to," I murmured. Lemon bars were hardly the most challenging dish, but it was what the funeral organizer had requested.

  The service came to an end and Pippa and I stepped back out of the limelight while the guests spilled into the hall, milling about, mostly socializing with each other and seeming more interested in the coffee and tea facilities than with anything I'd baked.

  That was when I saw him. Standing out amongst the crowd because he was about thirty years younger than the rest of them and he was wearing a brand new suit, not a suit that had been worn a thousand times since 1958.

  "Oh no," I whispered, jumping behind Pippa so I could hide. Not a great plan considering that I am three inches taller than her.

  "What is it?" Pippa asked, turning around.

  I crouched down. "It's Jackson," I whispered, pointing to him. "What is he doing here?"

  "Paying his respects to Mrs. Manson I guess," Pippa said.

  "I don't want him to see me like this," I hissed.

  "What, crouching and hiding like a coward?"

  "No. Well, yes. But I mean...catering a funeral!" I said, ducking down further.

  "Well, I think it's a little too late."

  Heavy footsteps approached us. "Hello, Rachael," Jackson said.

  I straightened up slowly and brushed down my apron. "Hello, Jackson. I just dropped a hair-tie and I was looking for it," I said, searching around as though the make-believe hair-tie might still be down there on the loose.

  Jackson frowned and looked at Pippa then at me, taking in our uniforms and the trays of cakes behind us. "I didn't know you catered funerals," he said.

  "It's just for a bit of fun," I said quickly, then made a face. I probably shouldn't describe a funeral as fun. “Not just funerals. We can do any event," I said, trying desperately to think of an event that wasn't a funeral. "Wakes," I added.

  Jackson laughed a little and reached behind me to take a lemon bar. "Not bad," he said with an impressed look. "I'd forgotten how good your baking was, Rachael."

  Yeah, well, maybe if you ever actually came into the bakery from time to time. But you've had other priorities recently, I thought. Priorities with long red hair and a detective badge.

  But I noticed that he was at the fu
neral alone and hope rose in my chest. "I'm glad you like it," I said with a beam. I could have sworn I saw Pippa hide a smirk behind him.

  "So," Jackson said as he wiped his hands with a napkin I'd handed him. "Aside from funerals—and wakes—do you also do weddings?"

  I looked at Pippa for confirmation first and then nodded. But I caught a look of hesitation in Pippa's eyes when I turned back to Jackson and said, "Of course! We'd be happy to. In fact, we'd much rather be doing weddings. Why, do you know someone who is getting married?"

  That was when I saw Pippa's face turn grave and I instantly knew how stupid my question had been.

  My stomach sunk as Jackson nodded slowly and placed his hands in his pockets. "Yes," he said. "Me."

  I'd never plastered a smile so quickly and brightly to my face. "Oh my goodness!" I exclaimed. "That's wonderful news!" I practically shouted. I could see Pippa just staring at me like I'd gone mad. "Wow," I shook my head. "That is...that is just fantastic."

  "To Emma," Jackson said for clarification. Like I didn't know.

  "Of course," I said, then I stopped. "When was the engagement?" I asked.

  Jackson looked a little guilty. "A couple of months ago."

  Pippa looked away awkwardly and started packing the leftover lemon bars back into the cart. "Oh," I said, trying to keep the smile on my face. He was making it awfully hard.

  "Sorry I didn't tell you sooner," he said. "I just, I guess I haven't seen much of you lately."

  He'd definitely seen me during the past two months, though. "It's fine," I said breezily. "You don't have to tell me everything. Wow, congratulations though!"

  "Thanks," Jackson mumbled. The awkwardness between us was palpable. "So," he said finally, cutting through it. "You said you'd love to cater a wedding."

  Oh my goodness. I had said that, hadn't I? "Yes, yes, I...we...Pippa and I...would love to cater a wedding," I said. "Your wedding." I gulped.

  Surely his wedding will be so far in the future that I can just say yes now and cancel before it happens. We probably won't even still be catering by the time it rolls around. They might have even broken up before then.

  "That's great," Jackson said. "Our other caterer has fallen through. It's kinda short notice," he said.

  Short notice? How short can it be if they only got engaged two months ago?

  Pippa was still gazing at me with that same troubled expression on her face.

  "When is the big day?" I asked, trying to hide the grimace of horror that was threatening to take over my face.

  "Two weeks from today," Jackson said. He looked at Pippa, who quickly looked away, and then back at me. "Will that be okay?"

  "Okay?" I asked chipperly. "That's more than okay. That's fantastic. I...we can't wait. Can we, Pippa?"

  Pippa finally raised her head from the trays of lemon bars and smiled thinly. "We can't wait."

  As soon as Jackson moved away to go mingle with the grandchildren of Mrs. Mason, Pippa came and grabbed me by the shoulders. "Have you lost your mind, Rachael?"

  "What?" I asked, trying to look busy as I used a pair of tongs to pack away our poor, neglected lemon bars. "I don't care about Jackson getting married."

  "Rachael..."

  I looked at Jackson happily mingling and murmured, "Besides, we really need the money. I can deal with a guy I used to—USED TO—have a crush on getting married. It's just a wedding, Pippa," I said, taking a deep breath. "It's not like anyone is going to die or anything."

  Chapter 2

  "I still think bright pink is tacky for a wedding," I commented as we sat inside the van in the front of the vineyard. This was no small church wedding, no back yard deal. It was a real classy affair. I was a little surprised that they'd managed to pull together such an intricate event since they'd been engaged such a short time.

  It had taken us forty minutes to drive to the vineyard from Belldale and it had been a steep and windy trip up a mountain before we'd arrived.

  "Come on," Pippa said, pushing the door open. "I need some fresh air."

  "It's beautiful here," I commented, taking in the crisp fall air. The sky was mostly clear, but the grey and pink clouds that lingered didn't ruin the scene. In fact, they'd probably only make the wedding party photos even more beautiful. "A perfect day for a wedding," I murmured, my voice sounding a little melancholy.

  Pippa raised an eyebrow. "Not a perfect day to ruin a wedding, I hope," she said as she began to unload the van.

  "What are you talking about?" I asked as I adjusted my uniform, making sure that my white tie was straight.

  "You've really got to no plans of standing up and shouting something when the celebrant asks if anyone objects?"

  I stared at her with my jaw wide open. "Pippa! Of course not."

  Though the thought had crossed my mind. But only in passing. I'd never dare make such a scene like that. I got terrible stage fright. Even the idea of being a bride was a little daunting to me. All those people staring at you while you had to walk down the aisle and recite vows when you got to the end of it. I shuddered at the thought.

  Of course, if you were marrying the right person, it wouldn't be so bad.

  “Rachael?" Pippa asked. "We've got to get a move on."

  "Right," I said. There were other vans like ours parked in the parking lot. Even though we were the official dessert caterers for the wedding, with the pastries and finger cakes and the most important thing of all, the wedding cake, there was another caterer there taking care of the savory snacks. Apparently, there was going to be a sit down meal. Instead, finger food would be served while guests drank and danced. It was a sort of trendy, modern choice and I had to admit I was a little envious of how nice the entire reception seemed like it was going to be.

  The reception hall, with a breathtaking view of the vineyard on every side and its floor to ceiling windows and large outdoor dining area, was decorated in rustic chic. There was a candy buffet filled with chocolate-covered pretzels and hard candies and all sorts of old-fashioned confectionary that guests could help themselves to once the ceremony was over. It all left me feeling a little superfluous.

  "Hey, we've got the most important thing, remember?" Pippa said, giving me a nudge. "The cake."

  Yes. The cake was the most important thing at a wedding. Not a groom, I thought with a little sigh.

  "You know those sweets aren't even handmade," I said, eyeing them suspiciously. The buffet was being set up by a woman in a red and white pin-stripped shirt with "Shirley's Old-Fashioned Sweets" plastered loudly on her back.

  "Calm down," Pippa said. "You seem a little on edge today, Rachael."

  "I'm not," I snapped back as I set up our station. "Why would I be on edge?"

  "Maybe because the guy you like is getting married to someone else today."

  "I've told you a thousand times. I don't like him."

  Pippa leaned against the table and shot me a look. "Look, if this is all too much for you, you can tell me. We can go. We don't have to do this."

  I looked at her in shock. "We can't just leave. This is a wedding, Pippa! You can't run away from a wedding."

  Pippa shrugged. "We can leave the cake. Looks like the guests won't exactly starve if we're not around to hand out the rest of our stash."

  "It would be terrible for business," I said stubbornly. "What if word got out that we'd done that? We'd never get another catering job."

  "You hate catering. Admit it."

  I did hate it. But we had to do what we had to do. "Anyway," I said, covering up our trays of baked goods with a large plastic lid to keep the flies away. "I do NOT care about Jackson. He is the least of my concerns right now."

  Pippa pouted a little. "That's a shame. I would have enjoyed watching you make a scene as you tried to stop the wedding."

  "I don't think there'll even be an opportunity to do that," I said. "We're stuck here in the reception room, remember? The ceremony is taking place two doors down." There was a bar and a kitchen area standing between us and where the ceremony was officially taking place. I wasn't sure whether I was disappointed or relieved that I wouldn't get to actually see the wedding ceremony.