Death by Cookie Dough: A Bee's Bakery Cozy Mystery, #2

By Rosie A. Point

Three cookies, two baking contestants, and one midnight murder… Whodunit?

 

Ruby and Bee, bakery owners with a background in sleuthing, are ecstatic when they're asked to judge a local baking contest. Especially when they find out their pet cat, Cookie, can come along. Mystery, Maine, their new small town, has kept them busy serving cookies, meeting people, and even solving a murder.

 

Judging a contest is far more relaxing than competing in one.

 

At least, that's what they think until two local bakers turn up dead on the morning of the event. And the local police are convinced it was a freak accident rather than a crime.

 

Ruby and Bee know what they have to do—solve the murder mystery, keep the town safe, and avoid the attentions of the town detective.

 

The bakers must figure out whodunit and protect their home town. Find out if they can solve the mystery in the second book of the Bee's Bakery Cozy Mystery series from USA Today bestseller, Rosie A. Point.Grab your copy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Apr 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224883493

Book preview

One

It has to be perfect! Joan slapped her hand down on the countertop in Bee’s Bakery. If you don’t act fairly, if anything goes wrong, heads will roll.

Joan had a habit of tugging on her limp gray fringe after each emphatic declaration. For such a tiny woman with a passion for floral print, she was surprisingly threatening.

I put up my best customer-greeting smile. Everything will be fine, Joan. You don’t have to worry. The competition is in good hands this year. When the organizer of the annual Mystery Baking Contest had approached us to judge the competition, we’d been overjoyed.

Until we’d realized how enthusiastic the local competitors were about the contest. People in Mystery took their baking seriously.

Do you know what happened to the last judge who failed our town? Joan continued.

The other folks in the bakery, seated in their comfy gold-yellow benches or at the cute tables nearest the counter, didn’t look up from their meals. A warm hubbub filled the air, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out Joan’s booming voice.

Do you know? Joan asked, pressing her point and slapping the counter again.

I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to stop slapping the counter, ma’am, I said.

The last person who judged a contest and failed this town left Mystery with their tail between their darn legs. But you wouldn’t know that because you’re new. A flatlander. I can’t believe the contest is being judged by a⁠—

Joan, I said, there’s no need to get so irate. Everything’s going to work out. The competition will be judged fairly. If you don’t trust me, you can trust Betty, can’t you? She organized the whole thing.

That Betty’s a dubbah if ever I known one, Joan said. And you can’t tell me any different. She’s barely part of the town in the first place. Lives out in the willywacks. You think I’ll trust her? I should’ve won last year, but Sally Donlin got the prize. She’d gone red in the face. If the top of her head had been a lid, it would’ve been rattling and sputtering.

Please, Joan, you’re going to have to relax. My customers⁠—

The front door opened, and a woman entered. It was Sally Donlin herself, wearing a flannel shirt with a puffy jacket over it. She whipped a cap off her head, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes folding like the lines on a map.

Oh boy, here we go.

The past two weeks had been difficult to say the least. When I wasn’t frantically trying to organize my wedding, I was here at the bakery. Usually, this was my favorite place to be, but with the contest approaching, the town residents had become increasingly erratic. Not unfriendly but erratic.

Sally and Joan were the main culprits.

Competitors on two different baking teams—the teams at the contest this year were limited to two people each—they would spit and hiss like two cats on a hot roof whenever they encountered each other.

Speak of the darn devil, and she will appear, Joan said loudly.

Again, no one in the bakery seemed to care. My new server, Farrah, swept between the tables, taking orders and returning to make coffees or put in orders in the kitchen as needed.

Sally reached the counter, and I let out a breath.

Ruby, she said. How are you?

I’m good, I said. How are you, Sally? Are you⁠—?

Baking contest tomorrow. Sally was a woman of few words and below average patience.

That’s right, I said. Are you looking forward to it? Are your teammates all set?

Joan hadn’t quit glaring at Sally through narrowed eyes since she’d entered. They were opposites. Sally in her flannels, taller than most women, and Joan in her florals, short, petite and pink all over.

Chelsea’s organized, Sally said.

Hunter is great at baking, Joan put in, pushing herself forward and trying to stand between Sally and the counter. He’s been working wonders in the kitchen. A real talent if ever I’ve seen one. The other contestants should be real concerned.

Sally grunted a laugh.

You got a problem, Donlin? Joan spun around to face her competitor. Because if you do, there are ways we can work it out.

Work it out.

Yeah.

I could squash you beneath my thumb, Sally said, tugging on the lapel of Joan’s dress.

What do you think you’re doing, you dubbah? Joan tried to push her away and failed miserably.

That’s enough, I said. Both of you, that is enough! The last words came out as a shout.

This time, everyone in the bakery fell silent and turned to observe the commotion. They were used to it from Joan and Sally, but not from me. I took two deep breaths. If you’re going to fight, I said, you can do it outside of this bakery. You’re disturbing my customers.

Sally harrumphed and walked off, stomping her booted feet. She tugged on her cap and dipped out into the cold.

Joan eyed me. Only person who’s disturbing anyone around here is you. And then she marched off.

I smiled brightly. Sorry for the interruption, folks. Things are a little bit crazy this week. The baking contest and all.

That seemed to satisfy the customers. They returned to their conversations and meals. Farrah, her dark hair swept into a curly updo, dropped off a tray behind the counter and gave me an affectionate pat on the back. You OK?

I let out a breath. Stressed, I said, but I’ll be fine. Say, Farrah, can you keep an eye on things here for a second? I need to pop into the kitchen and catch my breath.

Great idea. Don’t let them get you down, Ruby, she said. Sally and Joan are tough, but they’ve got soft hearts once you get past all the… She waved her hand vaguely in front of her face. You know.

I left her to her work and pushed through the kitchen door.

Bee and Leslie worked their magic together, moving past each other and to the steel countertops or the state-of-the-art oven as they baked or cooked food from the menu—we had a small selection of sit down meals like croissants, open sandwiches and so on.

What’s wrong? Bee asked instantly.

Sally and Joan again, I said. I swear, I’m going to start pulling out my hair if they keep this up.

They won’t, Leslie, our sous chef, said. Tomorrow’s the contest. They’ll ease up after that. She gave me a broad smile, and I relaxed a little.

Let’s hope so, Bee said. They’re impossible. It’s making it difficult to remain impartial.

Bee!

What? I’m being honest.

What if someone hears you? I gave a frantic glance over my shoulder at the closed kitchen door. They’re already chomping at the bit. If they hear you joking about playing favorites…

Who’s joking? Bee asked. Besides, I’m not playing favorites so much as I’m targeting those I favor the least.

I clapped a hand to my forehead.

I’m kidding, Ruby. Bee came over and looped an arm around my shoulders. Take a breath. It’s going to be all right.

I hope so, I said. There’s so much to do and— My phone trilled in the pocket of my jeans, and I wormed it out. It was a reminder about my meeting with Moira, my wedding planner. I have to run! I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.

We’ll keep things under control while you’re gone, Leslie said, her usual reassuring self.

And I’ll try not to strangle anyone who gives me trouble, Bee put in, just the opposite.

I groaned and rushed from the kitchen.

Two

Moira usually invited me to her house for wedding planner meetings, but she’d sent me a message and told me that she had to meet me at a local juice bar instead. It was strange, but I was past worrying about where we met at this point.

The date had been shifted for my wedding at least three times over the past couple of months. We were closer to Christmas than Thanksgiving, and while I’d never envisioned a winter wedding, the date we’d set was a few weeks away.

There was still so much to do!

And everything had to be perfect. If it wasn’t, how could our marriage get off to a good start?

Just breathe, Ruby. Just breathe.

I did exactly that as I got out of the car and approached the juice bar that was tucked down a side road near the bay. The ocean waves were choppy today, the sky colored the deep gray of pumice, and an icy wind bit through my thick coat.

I dipped into the juice bar, SumFruit, and searched for Moira’s familiar face. It was nowhere to be found, and my anxiety ticked up several notches. She wasn’t usually late.

The decor in the juice bar was loud, with bright colored fruits painted on the walls and splashes of yellow, orange, green and red surrounding them. The counter at the back was populated with refrigerated cases showing off fresh fruits beside a massive juicer.

A friendly server waved at me and came over.

Hi, she said, adjusting her cap with its happy apple printed on the front. How are ya?

I’m stressed, honestly. I scanned the place a final time, but there was only one other person in here. A man on his phone, slurping down a smoothie through a straw. He’d reached the dregs of his drink but kept sucking on nothingness, producing the most annoying sound known to mankind.

I’m sorry to hear it. Take a seat, she said, smiling at me. She had to be fresh out of college or still in it. Her blonde ponytail fountained out of the back of her baseball cap, and she bounced as she walked me over to a table.

I sat down, plonking my purse on the table and fervently wishing Bee was here, just for moral support. And also so she wouldn’t throw a cookie at anyone while I was gone.

Breathe.

The server, her name tag reading Reese, sat down opposite me.

I frowned. Uh…

Do you want anything to drink before we start? she asked.

Start?

Yeah. We’ve got a special on goji berry smoothies but you probably don’t need the extra energy,