Poison Contact: Texts From Beyond, #2

By Kristen Brand

It starts with an order of inappropriately shaped cookies for a bachelorette party.

 

When Sydney Farina, professional baker and amateur sleuth, delivers the cookies, the bride-to-be drops dead in front of her. Sydney tries to convince herself the mysterious tragedy is none of her business, but the rude bride who texted her for constant updates about her order doesn't stop texting now that she's dead. And her ghost begs Sydney to solve her murder and clear her fiancé's name.

 

Sydney isn't so sure the fiancé is innocent, but it's hard to ignore the desperate ghost. As she investigates the bride's frenemies and former lovers, she finds few leads and starts to worry she'll never put the bride's ghost to rest.

 

But she must be getting close to the truth, because the killer is trying to silence her… permanently.

 

Poison Contact is the second book in the Texts From Beyond cozy mystery series but can be read as a standalone. Twice the length of the first book, it has more mystery, more murder attempts, and more texts from beyond the grave. Order now and start the investigation!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristen Brand
• Release date: Jun 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201969363

Kristen Brand

If Kristen Brand could have any superpower, she’d want telekinesis so she wouldn’t have to move from her computer to pour a new cup of tea. She writes sci-fi and fantasy books with fire-forged friends, explosive fight scenes, and kissing. She lives in Florida with her husband, and her hobbies include reading comic books and desperately trying to keep the plants in her garden alive.

Book preview

Copyright @ 2022 by Kristen Brand

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, excepting brief quotations for the purpose of book reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Proofreading services by Victory Editing

Cover design by Kristen Brand

Cover stock images via Pixabay

Published by Kristen Brand

KristenBrand.com

Chapter 1

These cookies are X-rated

Sydney Farina placed a fondant mermaid tail on top of the last blueberry cupcake and stepped back to survey her work. Six perfect cupcakes stood on the tray before her. Edible glitter covered the two-tone blue-and-cyan frosting and gave it the appearance of a glimmering ocean, and the sea-green liners had a pattern of fish scales. They were absolutely freakin’ adorable, at least in Sydney’s biased opinion. She picked up the tray, headed out of the kitchen—

—and nearly crashed into Javier.

Whoa! He jumped back, almost dropping the empty napkin holder he was bringing back to refill. Close call.

Sydney smirked at him. "Yeah, close call for you. If you’d made me drop these cupcakes, I’d—"

I’d murder you.

The joke almost left her lips before she stopped herself. Her stomach felt cold and slimy, like half-melted ice cream. Their former boss had been murdered a month earlier inside the bakery, and a little later, the killer had tried to stab Sydney just yards away from where she currently stood. Maybe someday she’d be able to make dark jokes about the experience, but it was still too soon.

I’d kick you in the shins, she finished after a brief pause. Repeatedly.

If Javier noticed her stumble, he didn’t comment. Are you sure you can reach my shins?

Sydney scoffed. She wasn’t short; Javier was just enormous. He stood at six feet five and was heavyset with a thick, dark beard. Currently in his early forties, he’d played football when he was younger, and anyone who’d tried to tackle him must have bounced harmlessly off his rock-solid mass. He was intimidating—if you ignored his goofy grin and the apron he wore that showed a cat flying through outer space with a slice of pizza.

She raised her boot-covered foot threateningly. Don’t tempt me.

Now you’re just bullying me. I’m going to complain to Faith about workplace harassment.

Sydney walked to the empty spot in the display case where only crumbs remained of the last batch of mermaid cupcakes. Summertime Sweets had been doing better business lately thanks to the arrival of warmer weather. The cold, dark days of slushy snow and barren trees that gripped Beaverfield, Michigan, for most of the year had finally relented. Spring had brought back the greenery, and the town’s residents had brought out their shorts and sunglasses, determined to enjoy the weather. And most of them wanted cake and cookies for their outdoor parties.

Summertime Sweets had cakes and cookies—and pies, cupcakes, donuts, tarts, and almost every other baked dessert you could desire. It was a cute space with a white tile floor and pale pink walls that were decorated with vintage illustrations and white porcelain plates.

Some people might think Sydney looked out of place there. In a room of pastels, she was dressed from head to toe in black, her hair dyed blue and her tattoos and piercings on full display. But baking was her passion, and she felt lucky she’d turned it into her full-time job.

She was setting out the last cupcake when the bell over the door jingled.

Mayra! Javier called in his booming voice. How’s it going?

Sydney looked up. She’d gone to school with Mayra Navarro, Javier’s cousin, and still bumped into her now and then. (Beaverfield was small enough that you bumped into pretty much everyone.) A short, stocky woman, she had curly hair, brown skin, and glasses. She’d inherited a similar fashion sense as her cousin, and she wore a T-shirt with a grumpy cartoon cat and the text YOU GOTTA BE KITTEN ME.

Hey, Javi, she said. How soon could you make cookies for Bobbie’s bachelorette party?

How soon do you need them? he asked.

Mayra scratched her cheek. Well, the party’s tomorrow, so…

Sydney winced. Usually they got catering orders weeks in advance.

You’re lucky you’re family, Javier said. Are you slacking on your maid of honor duties or what?

I’m not slacking. Mayra scowled. You have no idea how elaborate this thing is. Bobbie had me rent a boat—a boat! I had to put together party favors and order champagne from this place in California. Then I had to rent a photo booth and get the sizes of every bridesmaid for matching robes. I thought I had finished the catering when I took care of lunch and dinner, but then I realized I forgot the stupid cookies! She clutched her head, face scrunched up in frustration.

Hey, relax. Javier changed from teasing to soothing in an instant. We’ll take care of it. What do you need?

Mayra covered her face with her hands. Can I talk to Sydney about it?

Javier crossed his beefy arms. What, am I not good enough for you? You know I work here, right? I don’t just hang out in a bakery for fun. I bake.

I know, I know, Mayra said. It’s just… These are bachelorette-party cookies.

I can make cookies. He pointed down at the display case. See those ones shaped like bacon and eggs? Made by yours truly.

Yeah, but… Mayra rubbed her forehead. Bachelorette-party cookies are… They’re for a bunch of drunk, wild women, so they’re shaped like… She gestured helplessly.

Javier squinted at her. Why are you making this so weird?

She wants cookies shaped like penises, Sydney provided.

Mayra sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Yes. Two dozen please.

Oh. Javier’s voiced turned strangled, and he stepped back from the counter. Uh… You want to take this one, Sydney?

Wimp, she said but stepped forward.

Unfortunately, a mother chose that moment to enter the bakery with her two young children, cutting off any further talk of X-rated cookies and foiling Sydney’s plans to see how embarrassed she could make Javier.

Come on back, she told Mayra. We can talk in the office.

She led Mayra through the kitchen, the industrial refrigerator humming and timers over the ovens counting steadily down. Faith’s office sat in the back corner, and Sydney knocked before opening the door.

Faith looked up from her computer. A plump, middle-aged woman, she had short blond hair and glasses, and she always dressed business casual despite not enforcing a dress code on the rest of the staff.

Can I borrow the room for a few minutes? Sydney asked.

Of course. Faith stood before Sydney could explain why she needed it, as if her employee had every right to kick her out of her own office.

We’ve got a bachelorette-party order and some kids out front who don’t need to hear what shapes we can make cookies into, Sydney said, feeling the need to explain.

Say no more, Faith said. I’ll go help Javier until you’re finished.

She smiled pleasantly at Mayra and then headed for the front of the store.

Right. Sydney settled into the office chair behind Faith’s desk, aka the most organized desk in the world. Take a seat.

A web page was open on Faith’s computer with the heading 10 MARKETING IDEAS FOR YOUR BAKERY BUSINESS. Ever since Glenda, Faith’s mother and their former boss, had been killed, Faith had been stepping up her efforts to promote Summertime Sweets. She wanted to keep her mother’s bakery afloat, but Sydney suspected she also had something to prove. While Glenda had been alive, she’d never allowed her daughter to pursue any of her ideas for growing the business.

A hinged double photo frame stood on the desk between the office-supply organizers and file trays. The left picture showed Faith and her wife while the right showed Glenda surrounded by Faith’s children. The older woman wore a smile she’d rarely displayed at the bakery. She’d been a grumpy, unreasonable boss, and Sydney had only seen a different side of her after the woman had died and sent Sydney text messages from beyond the grave.

No, seriously. That had happened.

Sydney’s phone felt suddenly heavy in her apron pocket, but it hadn’t done anything unusual since she’d caught Glenda’s killer and put her ghost to rest. Sydney still had no explanation for how she’d gotten text messages from a dead person, and she scrolled through her conversation with Glenda at least once a week to reassure herself it hadn’t been a dream.

But that was in the past, and she needed to focus. She minimized the marketing web page and opened the app they used to track orders.

You said two dozen cookies?

Yes, Mayra answered. You sell cookies in dozens, right?

We can sell any number you’d like.

Two dozen should be fine. Creases formed between Mayra’s eyebrows as she thought. There are eight of us, and I can’t see anyone needing more than three whole cookies.

Sydney typed in the number. Any dietary restrictions?

Two of the bridesmaids are vegan. I tried going vegan in college once and ended up with a vitamin deficiency that made me constipated. She winced. Sorry, that was too much information.

Just a little. Sydney smiled to take the sting out of her words. We can include some vegan ones. I’ll give them a different color icing to set them apart—assuming you want icing. What type of cookies do you need?

Mayra sank deeper into the chair and looked like Sydney had asked whether she wanted to get executed by a firing squad or hanging.

I have no clue. She moaned. Bobbie just said cookies.

We’ll do our classic sugar cookies with royal icing. They’re always a crowd pleaser. Sydney looked her up and down. I’ll give you one as a sample on the way out. You look like you could use a cookie.

Mayra slumped forward. "Thanks. I had no idea this would be so stressful. It isn’t even my wedding."

Sydney leaned back in her chair. So who’s Bobbie, and how’d you get roped into maid of honor duties?

Bobbie Bellerose, my brother’s fiancée. She’s awful. I don’t know what Ramón sees in her. Mayra straightened up, angry red blotches appearing on her cheeks. She’s the shallowest person I’ve ever met. She runs this beauty blog where she makes women feel insecure so she can sell them makeup from her sponsors, and she’s obsessed with her brand and her looks. I snapped a picture at one of Javi’s kid’s birthday parties that had her in it, and she screamed my head off because I didn’t give her time to fix her hair and makeup—forced me to delete the photo from my phone and everything. She’s a nightmare.

Yikes, Sydney said.

And the wedding’s making her a thousand times worse. Mayra clutched her head. She’s doing these wedding-planning videos online, so if everything isn’t one hundred percent magazine-worthy perfect, she has a meltdown. You should’ve seen her freak out over the invitations coming out glossy instead of matte.

How long until the ceremony?

One more month, so at least it will be over soon.

More like it’s just beginning, Sydney thought. Aloud, she said, That sucks, sorry. I’d offer you some rum cake, but the baking process cooks out all the alcohol.

Oh, don’t worry. I’m going to get hammered on the boat tomorrow.

Maybe you’ll get lucky and fall overboard and drown, Sydney said and then clamped her jaw shut. Not everybody appreciated her sense of humor. She really needed to act more professionally with customers.

Mayra, though, just barked out a laugh. Yeah, that’s probably the best possible outcome—actually, no, I take that back. The best would be Bobbie drowning.

Sydney hadn’t hung out with Mayra much in school, but she had a feeling they would have gotten along. They went over the final details, and Sydney submitted the order into their system before grabbing Mayra’s cookie and walking her out.

A line had formed in front of the register, so Sydney jumped behind the counter and helped with the rush. A young couple wanted a cupcake to share, a group of teenagers cleared out their stock of chocolate chip cookies, and an older woman discussed an order for an anniversary cake. Fifteen minutes passed before things died down enough for Sydney to chat with Javier and Faith.

You want to take the cookie order? she asked Javier teasingly. It’s your cousin’s wedding, after all.

It’s the bachelorette party, not the wedding. He held up a hand. And are cookies like that really a thing, or is Mayra pranking Bobbie?

They’re a thing.

He made a face. Weird.

Sydney crossed her arms. Guys don’t have a monopoly on lewdness, you know. Women can be raunchy too.

Uh, if a group of guys ate cookies shaped like lady parts, I’m pretty sure they’d end up on an FBI watch list. He looked over at Faith. Hey, so do lesbian bachelorette parties have those, or…?

I can neither confirm nor deny, Faith said with a mysterious smile. Then her face turned serious. Sydney, I know it’s a rush order, but would you mind getting them made?

"Yeah,