Red, White 'n Blue Murder: A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery, #20

By Rosie A. Point

It's time for red, white, 'n blue cupcakes, fireworks, and a side of murder…

 

Ruby and Bee are having the time of their lives in cozy small town, Yesterday. The last few weeks have been a blast, what with Ruby's boyfriend visiting for vacation and the preparations for the upcoming 4th of July parade. They've been asked to cater the celebrations, and they're thrilled.

 

Until, the day before the parade, disaster strikes. The Yesterday Radish Queen, who's meant to wave to the crowd from the back of the silver tractor float, has been murdered. The festivities will have to be canceled, the fireworks put away, and the cupcakes thrown out. Unless, of course, our favorite baking duo can solve the crime before time runs out.

The clock is ticking… Can Ruby and Bee figure out whodunit before the new detective in town closes down the parade? Find out in the latest installment of this cozy series. Grab your copy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Mar 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224992263

Book preview

1

D id you know, Bee said, stirring her cupcake batter, that there’s more violent crime in the summer months?

Are these the things that keep you up at night? I laughed, placing empty cupcake trays on the counter in the food truck. It was a sweltering morning—the U.S. National Weather Service had put out a heat advisory—but that wouldn’t stop us from preparing Bee’s new invention. The red, white, ‘n blue cupcakes would be served at the Fourth of July parade, set to take place in two days, and we needed to test the recipe.

It’s morning, not that you can tell from the heat. And all I’m saying, Bee continued, gesturing with her mixing spoon and splatting cupcake batter onto the countertop, is that if anyone sasses me, I may wind up shoving a spoon up their nose.

Good heavens, Bee.

What? I’m only turning up my anger a notch or two.

True. My friend had never taken sass. She’d throw a cake at you if you caused too much trouble. Some called her crazy, I preferred temperamental. At any rate, she was a fantastic woman to have on my side.

We were hidden inside the truck, parked across from the radish statue in the town square, the shutter closed. Our tiny air-conditioning unit worked over time, struggling against the building heat. The weatherman had said it would be 89 degrees by 09:00 a.m., and I wasn’t ready for it.

Heavens, I got hot on a normal day serving customers on the truck.

Here’s a question, Bee said, where are we going to store all the cupcakes?

Today’s batch of red, white, ‘n blue cupcakes were testers to sell to our customers. That way, we could ensure quality for the parade and make a few sales. Everyone was meant to stay inside, but the town was determined to set up for the parade. That meant there would be council members, police officers, committee organizers, and parade members coming by for refreshments at the very least.

Store them? I asked, going blank for a second.

We need to make five hundred cupcakes, right? You said we’d be working through the night to get everything ready. We can’t store the cupcakes in Tupperwares in this heat. The frosting will melt.

Right, of course. I’ve organized a solution with the local high school—they’re kindly permitting us to use their refrigeration units for storage.

Bee groused under her breath.

What?

I don’t like putting cupcakes in the fridge. It dries them out. I know we have to, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I would’ve given Bee a consolatory pat on the shoulder, but even with the air-conditioning on, it was too hot for that.

How was it relatively cool a few weeks ago, and now this? Bee asked, doling the cupcake batter into their patriotic, star-spangled wrappers. It’s that boyfriend of yours.

Huh?

Jamie. The minute he joined us in Yesterday, the heat started. He brought it with him.

I chuckled at the thought.

You find it funny, but while we’re out here baking away, he’s lounging in bed at the Mourning Dove, enjoying lemonades or iced teas.

Now, Bee, let’s not⁠—

A knock rattled the shutter of the truck, and I jumped, clasping at my throat.

Relax, Bee said, Corpses can’t knock.

It was a standing joke—albeit an off-color one—between us that we kept stumbling over, running into, sometimes even falling over corpses. And getting involved in murder investigations as a result.

Coming, I called, when the knock came a second time.

If it’s the sun, tell him to come back in the winter, Bee said, as I moved past her.

Since when is the sun a man?

Are you kidding me? Temperamental, hotheaded, constantly flaring up when you least expect it. Name a man who doesn’t behave that way. I’ll wait.

You realize you’ve just described yourself, I said.

Bee brandished the batter covered spoon at me.

I’m kidding, I yelped, and skedaddled to the side door of the truck. I opened it and instantly regretted it. The heat assaulted me and sweat sprang up on my forehead. Hello? Warmth filled my mouth—it was seven in the morning, and not nearly as hot as it would be later, but unpleasant nevertheless.

Who’s there? I called.

Oh, hiya. Hi, Miss Holmes. It was Sheriff Briar. His blond hair was plastered to his scalp from the heat, and two darkened half-moons had spread on his usually neat shirt under the armpits. I was wondering if you were open. Hoping to buy a soda. He checked his watch. I know it’s early, but⁠—

Sure, no problem. Just a sec. I went over and opened the front shutter, propping it up to create a neat square of shade in front of the truck’s window.

Bee hissed at me like Yesterday’s answer to a vampire. You can’t be serious.

Sorry, Miss Pine, Sheriff Briar said. Dying of thirst out here.

Fine. I suppose.

I re-entered the truck and fetched Sheriff Briar a Coke. He paid for it and popped the tab on the spot, glugging some back after. Oh man, that’s good. Thank you.

You’re welcome. Our air-conditioning unit whirred and whined, and the inside of the truck was barely cooler than outside. But the show had to go on.

How are the preparations coming along, Sheriff? Bee shut the oven door, the cupcakes safely inside. I bet it’s been difficult setting up everything in this weather.

Nightmare, Sheriff Briar said, wiping sweat off his top lip with the back of his hand. Setting it up, I mean. Getting everyone organized, telling the deputies where they’re needed, and making sure the practice runs smoothly. I mean, I’m as patriotic as the next American, but in this heat? It’s a real challenge. Not that we’re stopping. His chest puffed out. This is going to be the best Fourth of July celebration we’ve ever had.

Assuming nobody drops dead, Bee said. Sorry. Force of habit.

With this town’s track record, I don’t blame you. Sheriff Briar, who was young for a sheriff, had already developed several new wrinkles thanks to recent events. "Nothing better go wrong this time around. Detective Pope’s still at the office and he’s not happy to be here. I think it’s the