Decease of Cake

By Patti Larsen

Welcome to the Delaine Baker Cozy Mysteries!

Delaine Baker has it all—a gorgeous, wealthy husband who adores her, an adopted family in her new Georgian hometown, a vibrant career as a famous TV actress and a heart of gold. But when her mother-in-law’s birthday party is interrupted by murder, Delaine’s years playing a homicide detective give her an edge over the local chief of police. Tapping into her professional training and her need to help, Delaine sets out to save the night—and catch the killer—before happy birthday ends in a hot getaway!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patti Larsen
• Release date: Mar 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9781998948277

Patti Larsen

About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Book preview

Decease of Cake

Delaine Baker Cozy Mysteries: One

Patti Larsen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2024 by Patti Larsen

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Chapter One

The scent of fresh coffee already had me at, Well, hello there, Ms. Baker, the moment I passed the threshold of the open door to my favorite shop, anticipation only intensifying my utter need for a tall Americano, full-fat milk, extra vanilla and don’t scrimp on the second pump, please. Something about the deep, heady aroma of smoky beans, freshly roasted and ground right on the premises, floated me in blissful strides past the chattering clientele to take my place at the back of the short line.

I peeked around the shoulder of the shorter woman in front of me, counting heads and exhaling a quick breath that might have had a teensy-weensy hint of impatience behind it despite the speed at which the line was moving. Had I already partaken of two cups this morning? Yes, yes, I had. Was said coffee imported from Brazil by my very darling husband and ground at the breakfast table right in front of me? I will not tell a lie—it certainly had been. Was it delicious? Of course, naturally.

But was it coffee from Bean There, Done That, the very shop in which I did my best not to cause a scene by forcing my way to the counter and beaming a smile that was all better to ask forgiveness after than permission first?

No. No, it was not. My case, I assure you, was made in that one simple and yet delicious truth. Because if one had not had the divine decadence that was poured from the heavenly pots of that most magical of places, one had no right to judge the rest of us.

Me. No right to judge me.

Now, I’d been raised to be polite, and despite my craving—I was an addict, make no mistake, and didn’t apologize for it even a little bit, thank you very much—I held back and kept a smile on my face, even. Hard not to do, considering. It was, after all, the stunning kind of day this part of Georgia was known for, the floral yet lemony scent of magnolias heavy in the mid-May air, balmy temperatures not yet the overpowering humidity that would be coming in the next month or so making my above-the-knee skirt and short sleeved jacket just on this side of too much coverage, my wedge sandals showing off the new pedicure I’d treated myself to yesterday. Pink toes contrasted the rose-gold straps so perfectly that I sighed a deeply contented sound despite how silly such a reaction was in the grand scheme of all things that made up my amazing life.

I glanced at my Cartier watch, the single diamond beneath the crystal face flashing as I checked the time. There was no sign of Clea yet, a quick look over my shoulder into the hazel eyes of the young man behind me assuring me my best friend hadn’t yet arrived and somehow snuck up on me. I already planned to place her order for her, knowing her penchant for tardiness and her coffee order by heart. This was hardly the first time my sweet and hard-working friend showed up just as the bill was paid.

Not that I minded in the least. Life had been good to me, treated me far better than I ever imagined possible. The odd coffee, exotic vacation, New York shopping trip…? Worth every penny and more.

Are you deaf? I glanced up at the harsh tone in the woman’s voice, my good mood gone the way of the sun as a cloud, cheeky and impertinent as much as it was well-timed, crossed in the way of the summer glow and cast the shop in distinct shadow. I wasn’t the only one to look either, the steady chatter falling still as the person in question spoke again. I told you soy milk, not oat!

I’m sorry. The young woman in the logo t-shirt fumbled the cup she was holding, almost spilling what had to be the next order, her poor little hands shaking. I didn’t recognize the teenager, which meant she was new because you better believe I was on a first-name basis with everyone who touched the decadent deliciousness brewed in my favorite shop. So, not only was she learning, it was obvious to me the unhappy customer hadn’t just started complaining at that moment. She’d been at the poor girl enough to cause those trembling fingers. Only now had she reached the volume and aggressive assault that she’d been building to. The older woman certainly didn’t hold back now, not seeming to care that she was the spectacle of the entire space.

Maybe craved it as much as I did the coffee I now knew was going to have to wait until this drama was over.

"You’re sorry?" There was a name for a person like Ms. Overreaction, though I never used it because I always believed that was just an insult to any nice soul who’d been given that moniker at birth. But trust me, she fit the bill and signed off on the truth of the matter with her next statement. Sorry, demand. "I want to speak to the manager!"

Deep inhale, y’all.

I didn’t intend to butt in, I swear it, but... all right, we don’t know each other yet, so you have no idea that this sort of thing has always irked me. Ready for a life lesson in Delaine Baker? I was already on the move before that dreaded stream of words was out of the older woman’s nasty mouth and came to a halt behind her just as she finished spitting her vitriol at the now weeping girl who looked up in shock at me while I tucked myself in on an angle, lowering my head from my half-foot-in-height difference to the petulant woman who spluttered and stared when I smiled down at her.

Not nicely. Firmly. And spoke.

If you think making a scene and bullying this poor child into tears is going to get you what you want, I said, voice low and calm while I fixed her with my oddly deep blue eyes (eyes I’ve been told can be a tad bit intense when I’m not happy), you’re sorely mistaken. I turned my attention to the girl behind the counter who was rapidly wiping at her tears, still shaking, even as I noted an older employee emerging from out back, concern on her face. I recognized the establishment’s manager, Suzanne Hassel, immediately, so I knew help was on the way. But said manager was likely not in a position to fully defend her employee in a situation like this one.

Not like I was. Did I mention there was nothing on this green earth that wound me up more than a bully? Ask me why later. Long story. For now, all you needed to know was if short, mean and cranky thought she was going to get away with being cruel to another human being in my presence? She had a whole world of nope coming down on her harder than anything she could ever have imagined.

Mind your own business. The focus of my attention tried, bless her heart. But I could tell from the way she shrank from me she wasn’t feeling very powerful anymore. Maybe it was my near six-foot height or the fact I wasn’t even remotely intimidated by her volume of tone or how mean she chose to be to a total stranger far younger than her that now had her rethinking her life choices. For all I knew, Crankella was having a bad day of her own. I got that, understood bad days. I’d had a slew of my own before things turned around and I got my happily ever after.

Not that bad days were the kind of excuse I gave a pass to. Because there was no excuse for taking anything out on an innocent girl, was there? Been there, took the abuse, tossed the T-shirt in the trash and decided to never accept it for myself or anyone else ever and stood by that decision.

Case in point.

Tara, I beamed at the barista after a glance at her name tag. She managed a shaking smile back, good girl. Would you be a dear and make another with soy milk? She nodded to me and hurried to do so while her manager joined us at the counter. Hi, Suzanne. I quickly mirrored her answering smile.

Delaine, she said, bobbing a nod, her glasses shining in the bright lights over the counter. She’d tried calling me Ms. Baker the first few times, but I’d quickly put her at ease the best I could. I noted she still seemed awkward around me, though it could have been the situation. Then again, people being awkward in my presence was par for my particular course, after all, even if I had left stage and screen temporarily behind a year ago. Memories were short, but not that short, and fame made people act funny.

I’d like to take care of this bill, please. When I pay my own. I met the miserable woman’s eyes again, her sullenness easing up somewhat as she clutched at her purse strap and shuffled away from me.

Of course, Delaine, Suzanne said brightly, ringing up the order. The usual for you?

Yes, thank you. And one for Clea, if you please. I observed as Tara slid the new coffee to the glowering woman beside me. You’re welcome. You better believe I smiled as I said it.

Do you think she was grateful in the least? Apparently not. Instead, she shot me a baleful glare before stomping from the shop to the soft patter of applause and faint cheers and grins, salutes and waves from those who had been watching. I offered a gracious head bow before returning to my place in line. Yes, I could certainly have jumped to the front after that, had I wanted to. Oh, I wanted to. My sense of fairness simply wouldn’t allow it.

A grinning redhead shook her head at me when I returned to my spot, already in the place that I vacated to come to Tara’s rescue.

You left her some dignity, Clea said, giggling, her nose wrinkling, face full of amber freckles framing her light green eyes. You’re slipping, Laine.

I could barely concentrate, to be honest, despite her teasing. One more person in front of me and then sweet, delicious coffee was mine. I didn’t comment as that single soul stepped off and it was finally time. I took my turn at the counter, the manager shaking her head as I offered up my credit card, my regular order already made, Clea’s right along with it. Was it wrong I didn’t mind being that predictable?

On the house, Suzanne said, gaze going to Tara who was turning back at last, tissue wiping away the remnants of her tears.

You’re too kind, I said, beaming at the new girl as I did. Sometimes people are real jerks, I said. That’s not your fault. I hope she didn’t ruin your day.

She nodded to me. Thank you, Ms. Baker.

I took my card back but slipped a hundred-dollar bill into the tip jar while both women gaped. "Good