S'more Murder: A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery, #14

By Rosie A. Point

Are you hungry for s'more… murder?

When Ruby and Bee are invited to cater an exclusive Valentine's Day getaway by the most popular woman in Prattlebark Village, they can't say no. Especially since it will mean serving up their brand new, heart-shaped treat, the S'mores n' Caramel Hot Pot. But the group of social elites at the party aren't exactly carb-eaters.

As Ruby soon discovers, they're something much worse. There's a killer among them… signaled by the murder of the second most popular woman in town. With a guest list of suspects, a Valentine's Day ball, a mean detective on their case, and sticky marshmallow just about everywhere, Ruby and Bee set out to solve the mystery.

Can they figure out whodunit before they become the next victims? Find out in the fourteenth book in the Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery series. Grab your copy today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Mar 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224727377

Book preview

1

S omethings wrong with the s’more pots, I whispered, wringing my hands and glancing around the interior of the events hall at the Green Mountain Resort. Snow tickled the windows, but a warm fire crackled in the grand fireplace filling the space with cozy heat.

Bee frowned at the heart-shaped pots of gooey goodness. We’d designed them especially for the Valentine’s Day event that Francescan, the most popular person in Prattlebark Village, had hired us to cater.

Heart-shaped tin ‘pots’ containing melted chocolate and marshmallows—artfully caramelized with a blowtorch—accented with graham crackers and sprinkled with dustings of cocoa. They were meant to be the showstoppers of the weeklong vacation event.

But no one had touched them or any of the other food we’d prepared for tonight’s introductory get together.

What do you mean there’s something wrong with them? Bee asked, wriggling her nose from side-to-side. We spent all afternoon making these. They’re perfect. Heavens, they’re being kept warm and sticky by temperature-controlled trays.

It’s just… no one’s eating them. I chewed the inside of my cheek and scanned the hall.

That’s because no one’s eating. Period. Bee rolled her eyes. You know what Francescan and her friends are like, Ruby. They’re all about diets and zero carbs and wearing too much pink.

I like the color pink. I gestured to my striped, pink and lime apron.

Everything in moderation.

But Bee was right. I didn’t have to worry about the food being bad. Besides, this evening’s event was a test run for our delicious treats. We’d been tasked with catering the desserts for Francescan’s party—she’d concluded that the four-star mountain resort didn’t have the right type of candies and treats—and so far, it had been a strange start to the trip.

Barely anyone, apart from Petey, Francescan’s dark-haired assistant and driver, had spoken to us. He sat at the bar now, sipping a soda and occasionally checking with staff members at the resort that everything went to plan.

There were two camps of people at the Valentine’s Day celebration in the mountains outside of Prattlebark Village.

The attendees, who were glamorous, wearing sparkly dresses or expensive suits. And the help, like us. The two didn’t mingle.

You know, I tried saying hello to Francescan earlier and she ignored me flat, I said.

Not sure why you’re surprised, Bee replied—she was Francescan’s worst critic. She’s not a good person, Ruby. You’ve seen the way she treats people. She only cares about how much she can use people, not about who they are.

I didn’t want to believe the worst of our client, but Bee had a point. Francescan had threatened a librarian in front of us and was a notorious gossip.

A young woman around Francescan’s age with gorgeous blonde ringlets and a rosebud mouth, and a stocky blond man with an easy smile approached the table.

Wow, the woman said. These look amazing. What are they called?

S’more hot pots, I announced, trying not to show how relieved I was that someone was finally showing interest.

I’ll take one, please, she said.

Bee prepared it by placing it on a plate and handing it over sans a smile.

Thank you, the blue-eyed woman said. I’m Madeline, by the way, Madeline Sweete. This is my friend, Frank.

Friend? He raised a tufty eyebrow, but Madeline didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him.

And you are? Madeline extended a hand toward Bee.

Bee, she replied.

Ruby. I shook her dainty hand next. It’s nice to meet you.

The pleasure is all mine, she said. Did you hear we’ll be snowed in tonight? Apparently, the passes are treacherous. Madeline accepted a spoon from me. Do you want a spoon, Frank?

Naw, he replied, with a slight Southern twang to his accent. I don’t like stuff that hurts my teeth.

Oh, what a shame, Madeline sighed. I guess I’ll have to eat all this deliciousness by myself. She gave us a sneaky wink before wandering off. She tucked her floor length white dress aside as she seated herself at a polished wooden table beside the dance-floor.

She’s nice, I said.

Nicer than any of the others, Bee agreed, begrudgingly.

Oh Bee, are you angry we took this job? I know coming up here for Valentine’s Day wasn’t your idea of fun.

Of course, I’m not angry, Bee said, laughing. These people are paying good money for our services. It’s a pity they don’t eat any of it. So wasteful.

Yeah. But it’s nice to get away from Prattlebark Village for a while.

And even nicer that⁠—

Wretched witch! The cry came from the center of the dance-floor. It was followed by a splatter of fluid hitting the ground.

Bee and I snapped to attention. Though I couldn’t speak for Bee, at this point, we expected the worst whenever there was any kind of outcry, hubbub, or cacophony.

Thankfully, there were no dead bodies in sight.

Just Francescan, the hostess with the pinkest hair to grace God’s green earth, standing inches from another, shorter woman. Francescan held an empty glass, the contents of which she’d just emptied down the front of the other woman’s dress.

You’re insane! The woman slopped water off her orange pinafore. The color clashed horribly with her red hair and didn’t suit the chic style of the evening’s event.

"I told you, Katrina, you do not mess with my man."

You’re delusional. I haven’t gone⁠—

Shut up! Francescan yelled. Like, you’re lucky I don’t have you thrown off the premises. She glared at the other woman, daring her to speak, but Katrina’s pudgy face had gone as flaming red as her hair, and her lips were drawn into a line.

That’s what I thought, Francescan snapped, before turning on her glittery heel and marching for the exit, grabbing her coat from an attendant on the way.

Told you she was a meanie, Bee whispered.

One thing was for certain, being on a frosty getaway with Francescan would be interesting. I hoped not too interesting.

2

Francescan’s outburst had had one good side-effect. In the ensuing tension, everyone had turned to the desserts table to eat away their stress. There was nothing quite like sugar to dispel drama. Even poor Katrina, in her lurid orange dress, managed to scarf down two s’more hot pots and a cupcake.

All in all, we had served up just about everything we’d prepared, barring three s’more hot pots that screamed my name.

I could eat them right now, I said, my gaze fixed on the treats as Bee packed the last of our catering things into a carry case. We should take them back to our bungalow and have a midnight feast.

So much for there being something wrong with them, Bee said, narrowing an eye at me. I’m not going to argue, though. I gained about two pounds developing the recipe for these sweethearts. They’re as good as they look and smell.

Then it’s agreed. Midnight snack party before bed.

You know, I always have nightmares after we eat treats late at night, Bee said. But in this case, it might be worth it.

The hall had emptied out, the only folks left behind were the cleaning staff at the Green Mountain Resort. We’d already donated the last of the cupcakes and donuts to them for their evening snack, so I didn’t feel too