Choc Chip Murder: A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery, #7

By Rosie A. Point

It's time for spring. And murder…

Ruby and Bee, the baking duo extraordinaire, are proud to be catering the Muffin Flower Show. Until, during a taste-test in the inn's back garden, a murderer strikes!

A local gardener has been shot, and Ruby and Bee are the ones who find him. With no other witnesses to question and no sign of who might've done it, it's up to the baking duo to solve the mystery before the murderer claims another victim. Can Ruby and Bee figure out whodunit before it's too late?

Grab your copy, snuggle up with your chocolate chip cookies and milk, and see if you can solve it before they do!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Dec 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223217398

Book preview

Chapter One

That’s hilarious, Tabitha, a woman said, on the other side of the French doors that led to the Runaway Inn’s terrace, but you know that I’m the one who’s going to win the Muffin Flower Show this year.

Really, Rose, you can’t make sweeping statements like that, another lady replied, patting her dainty curls. It’s rude.

Rude? It’s fact. Rose, the original speaker, with her silver hair done up in a bun that tugged at the roots of her hair, smirked. I’ve won the flower show every year for the past five years. I don’t see why this one will be any different.

I lingered near the doorway, taking a few breaths of vitriol-free air before I headed out again with another tray of choc-chip cookies for the ladies of the Muffin Garden Society. Bee and I had been overjoyed after Mrs. Rickleston, the owner of the Runaway Inn, had asked us to cater the Muffin Garden Society party.

Now, I wasn’t so sure it was a good idea.

The women, in particular Rose-Marie, had made disparaging comments about each other, the cookies, and the tea and milk they had been served. There was nothing wrong with the tea, milk, and cookies, but I couldn’t speak for the ladies. They were full of gossip, and a couple dollops of mean for good measure.

Taking another break? Bee asked and halted beside me, holding a plate of cupcakes.

It isn’t another break, I replied, blushing. I’m just… um—

Avoiding the ire of Rose and her cronies?

Pretty much, I replied. They’re exhausting. Every time I put a plate down, they have something else to say.

Just offer them a sweet smile and a passive-aggressive comment and be on your way, Bee replied.

I narrowed my eyes at her. You’re handling this really well. Bee wasn’t a people person. What are you hiding? You didn’t do anything to the cookies, did you?

What? Like poison them? Bee gave an evil laugh, the gap between her two front teeth on full display. No, Ruby, of course I didn’t do anything to the cookies. I would never jeopardize our business like that.

Oh good.

She swept toward the back door and opened it. I can’t make any promises about the tea, though, she sang, over her shoulder.

That’s not funny! I cried, even though she was obviously joking. Bee had been a police officer before she’d become my chief baker and best friend. She wasn’t about to poison anyone, but she certainly had a barbed tongue.

I took a breath then exited the back door and walked across the terrace. Spring had come in full force, and the grass in the garden below was green, the trees flowering beautifully, and the hedges trimmed into shapes and angles. A gardener wandered around down there, carrying a pair of shears and wearing overalls. He disappeared behind the hedges.

You there! A woman’s voice cut through my appreciation of the new spring day.

I looked up.

Rose-Marie—the dragon of the Muffin Garden Society—snapped her fingers at me imperiously. You there, can you hear me? I think she’s deaf. Come here.

I gritted my teeth and walked over. Hello, ma’am. Is there something I can help you with?

Yes, there’s something you can help me with, she said, in mocking tones. You can help me by removing this disgusting tea from the table and leaving that tray of cookies. And you can do it with a smile. Rose glanced around at the other women at the table. I swear, you can’t get good help these days.

A few of the ladies shot me appraising looks. One of them, a woman with silver hair that draped past her shoulders, offered me a smile that might’ve been consoling.

Well? What are you waiting for? Rose-Marie snapped her fingers a second time.

Maybe Bee’s poisoning joke was funny. I set the tray of cookies down on the table then removed the pitcher of iced tea. Is there anything else I can get for you? I asked.

Oh, I don’t know. Another award? Rose-Marie tittered and rose from the table. Excuse me. I’m going to use the ladies’ room. She tottered off.

I think I will too. The woman with the long silver hair got up. I’ll use the time to clear my mind of Rose’s gossip.

A few of the other ladies gave scandalized gasps, but their eyes lit up with joy. I backed away from the table and nearly bumped into Bee, who was on her way back, her cheeks flushed. I had to stop myself from dumping the cupcakes on one of their heads, she hissed. Horrible women.

Now, who’s taking unnecessary breaks?

I’d say they’re very necessary. Someone’s liable to get a pie in the face if they keep talking like they are now. I can’t believe we’re going to have a stall at this flower show thing. We’ve got to be crazy to subject ourselves to another day of this.

The Annual Muffin Flower Show was at the end of the week, and we’d already secured ourselves a stall in the park where it would be held. It was a great business opportunity, and now, a headache Bee and I would have to bear. I hated to think that this would leave a bad impression on the residents of Muffin, Massachusetts.

I’d already felt what it was like to be stared at and judged by people. I didn’t want that again.

It’s going to be OK, I said. It’s just one day. It’s not like—

The pop-pop of gunfire interrupted me. The pitcher of iced tea slipped from my grasp, dropped to the stone portico tiling and shattered. People screamed and ducked, Bee and I grabbed each other by the arms.

What was that? Someone yelled.

Shooting! A gun!

Mrs. Rickleston hurried out onto the terrace, pale as a sheet. What on earth just happened?

The elderly ladies had all ducked under their tables or fainted in their chairs. People peeked out from underneath the tablecloths, a few of them still clutching cookies or cupcakes.

Quiet, Bee commanded. Is everyone all right? Has anyone been hurt?

Slowly, the women got back into their seats. They checked themselves or woke their friends. No blood or bullet wounds or deaths so far.

It sounded like it came from the garden, I said. Down there. My gaze lifted, and I gulped. A man’s boots peeked out from behind a hedge.

Bee and I exchanged a glance.

Call 911, Mrs. Rickleston.

Everyone stay here, Bee called out.

Together, we set off toward the end of the terrace then proceeded down the stone stairs and onto the garden path. Every step brought us closer to the boots and what was surely behind that hedge. I took a deep breath. We stepped around the corner.

The man was a gardener, the same one I’d noticed earlier on, with a shock of brown hair, tufted by the wind. He had been shot twice in the chest. A woman’s stiletto shoe was wedged in the mud beneath a freshly watered tree two feet from his body.

Oh no, I breathed, and speckles crossed my vision. I still wasn’t good with dead bodies. Not that I ever wanted to be. Oh no, not again.

Again. Bee released a weighty sigh. Mrs. Rickleston, she called. There’s no need for an ambulance. Tell them he’s dead.

The volley of shocked cries from the ladies on the terrace would have been comical if not for the gardener’s cooling corpse.

Chapter Two

The police had taken witness statements galore and had told people they could go home, but the Garden Society ladies had decided that this was the place to be. They milled around on the terrace, keeping back from the police line that had been placed across the end