Strawberry caramel murde.., p.1
Strawberry Caramel Murder, page 1
part #3 of Bitsie's Bakeshop Mystery Series
Strawberry Caramel Murder
Bitsie’s Bakeshop Cozy Mysteries
Book Three
By Abby Byne
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Strawberry Caramel Murder: Killer Cupcakes Book Three ©2018 Abby Byne. Revised edition ©2020 Abby Byne All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover Art © freepik.com
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter One
“Who is Monica McCall?” Anabel asked Bitsie as she scanned the newspaper clipping Bitsie had just posted on the tiny bulletin board next to the bakery refrigerator.
“She’s a local food blogger, but she also occasionally does articles for the Fayetteville newspaper. Didn’t she give us a great write-up?” Bitsie replied.
“She certainly is enthusiastic about our strawberry caramel cupcakes.”
“Yes, her review is so effusive it’s almost embarrassing.”
“Bitsie’s Bakeshop offers the best cupcakes I’ve ever tasted,” Anabel read aloud.
“Keep going,” said Bitsie, “it gets even better.”
“A mouthful of heaven!”
“Keep going.”
“Once I’d tasted one of Bitsie’s cupcakes, I knew I was ready to die a happy woman—” Anabel continued reading.
“I thought that was going a bit far,” Bitsie said, “and given our bakery’s track record of being involved in murders, slightly unwise. They are good though, aren’t they?” Bitsie spoke with her mouth full of strawberry caramel cupcake. “I can see why this flavor quickly became our best-selling item. It was genius of you to think up that combination.”
Anabel shrugged off the compliment, embarrassed at having her contribution recognized.
“I wish the article had mentioned you,” Bitsie continued. “I hate taking credit where it isn’t due.”
Anabel quickly changed the subject.
“Did you hear that creepy guy tried to attack another woman with scissors and cut her hair off in the grocery store parking lot last night?”
Bitsie had not heard, but it didn’t surprise her. Last night’s incident made the sixth time in the last two weeks that the scissor-wielding assailant had attacked someone. So far, all his victims had been women, and they’d all managed to fight him off with nothing more than minor injuries. Bitsie hoped he’d be caught soon. Little Creek, Arkansas, was not exactly a hotbed of crime. Bad things did happen from time-to-time, just like they did everywhere, but random attacks were extremely rare. Bitsie had always felt so safe in the tiny town; she didn’t like to think she, or any other woman, needed to be constantly on her guard.
“Did the woman get a good look at the guy this time?” Bitsie asked.
So far, none of his victims had gotten a good look at his face. He always attacked from behind, and he always wore a cap and sunglasses, even the two times he’d struck after dark.
“No, unfortunately,” said Anabel. “One of my girl cousins works at that grocery store. I wish they’d hurry up and catch him. It’s making me nervous.”
“I could use another tray of strawberry caramels out there, if you’ve got any ready, yet,” Hector said, returning from the front of the shop with an empty tray. “What’s making you nervous, Anabel?”
“That hair-cutting creep struck again, in the grocery store parking lot again.”
“He didn’t succeed, I hope.”
“Yes and no, the woman got away with only a couple of small scratches, but there’s a chunk missing out of the back of her hair.”
“I’m just about to go and sit there in that parking lot until I catch him,” said Hector. “And when I do—“
“It is a thought,” said Bitsie. “I’m worried that sooner or later he’s going to seriously injure someone.”
“Who’s going to seriously injure someone?” Nick asked, coming in the door.
“That weirdo who’s been grabbing women out of parking lots and giving them involuntary haircuts,” Bitsie answered.
“Oh, where did he strike this time?” Nick asked.
“The grocery store,” said Anabel.
“So far, that’s twice at the drugstore, once in the parking lot of Pietro’s Pizza, once near the pond at the park and—with what happened last night—twice at the grocery store,” said Nick. “He’s certainly persistent. Why does a person do something like that?”
No one answered Nick. Bitsie had a pretty good idea why a man might go around cutting hair off strange women, but she didn’t want to get into that in the middle of her sunny bakery, which smelled of vanilla, chocolate, caramel, and strawberries. Let the weirdos of the world stay out there somewhere, preferably outside of Little Creek altogether.
“Since everyone is here,” said Bitsie, “I might as well take the opportunity to tell you I’ll be out tomorrow.”
“Doing something fun, I hope?” said Anabel.
“Not really. I have to get some cavities filled,” Bitsie replied. “I’m sure you will all do just fine without me here, but there is one thing: I told Monica McCall, the blogger who did that glowing write-up on us, to come by tomorrow morning around ten and pick up a dozen strawberry caramel cupcakes as a thank you.”
“Isn’t that kind of like a bribe?” Nick joked.
“A bribe is something you get before you agree to do something,” Bitsie pointed out.
“Oh, so more like a payment,” Nick persisted, grinning at her.
Nick’s grin was infectious, and Bitsie had to force herself not to smile back. Instead, she picked a rag up off the counter and tossed it at him, but he caught it in his hand before it hit him in the face and kept right on grinning. No one, Bitsie decided, had a right to be that good-looking. She still couldn’t believe she and Nick were seeing each other and had been for over a month now.
Anabel assured Bitsie she’d make sure Monica got her cupcakes as Bitsie collected her coat and shoved a knitted hat over her unruly curls. That was another thing, besides the dentist, she’d been putting off. She was way overdue for a haircut.
Nick followed Bitsie out the door and toward her parking place in the alley behind the bakery.
“You didn’t tell me you had a dentist appointment tomorrow,” he said reproachfully.
“Just because we’re dating,” said Bitsie, “doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything.”
Nick laughed.
“You want to have dinner tomorrow evening?” he asked.
“Sure, shall we cook, or do you want to go out?”
“I thought I might introduce you to my mother.”
Bitsie’s heart sunk into her shoes. She and Nick had only been together since Thanksgiving, and it wasn’t even Valentine’s Day yet. Nick’s mother had been out of town for Thanksgiving, and Bitsie had gone down to Texas to visit her daughter Emily for Christmas, so she and Nick had yet to navigate a family occasion as a couple. Bitsie wasn’t at all sure she was ready to meet Nick’s mother.
“Uh,” said Bitsie, stalling for time. “Does she really want to meet me?”
“Of course, she does. Don’t worry; she’ll love you!”
Bitsie was far from sure Nick’s mother would love her. For one thing, there was a ten-year age difference between her and Nick. This had yet to pose a problem for them, personally, but Bitsie was worried meeting Nick’s mother might change all that. Nick’s mother had given birth to him when she was only eighteen, which made her a mere fifty-eight to Bitsie’s fifty.
“Have you told your mom about me?” Bitsie asked.
“Of course.”
“I mean, what have you told her about me?”
“I told her how great you are, how you run the bakery, how you like to—“
“Have you told her how old I am?”
There! She’d come right out and said it.
“I don’t know,” Nick said, looking mildly surprised. “Maybe. I’m not sure it’s ever come up.”
“Don’t you think she might be shocked?”
“Shocked? Why?”
It had clearly never occurred to him his mother might have any misgivings about their relationship.
“I think you should prepare yourself for the possibility your mother may—um—find our relationship somewhat hard to understand.”
“I don’t see why,” Nick insisted. He looked mildly insulted Bitsie should even consider his mother might find their relationship odd.
She shouldn’t worry, Bitsie told herself. Maybe, Nick was right. Maybe, his mother wouldn’t care at all that Bitsie was a decade older than Nick. After all, Nick knew his mother much better than she did. Still, she couldn’t help feeling apprehensive. All too often, sad experience had taught her; men were very poor predictors of how their mothers would feel about their sons’ taste in women.
“I’d rather we went out to eat,” said Bitsie. If she was going to meet Nick’s mother, the l
“Sure,” Nick said. “Day after tomorrow, then. We can go to that new Russian restaurant in Fayetteville we keep saying we want to try.”
The next morning Bitsie was late to her dentist appointment. It was a bad habit she had developed. The more she didn’t want to go through with something, the later she was in arriving. It was irrational. No matter how late she arrived, she would still need those three fillings, and now, in addition to inconveniencing her dentist, she had probably also caused another patient to be delayed for their appointment. Time operated like a set of dominoes. Her lateness could trigger a whole set of unforeseen changes in the days of countless other people.
But, as it turned out, she had been beating herself up over nothing. When she arrived at the dentist’s office twenty minutes late for her scheduled appointment, she found the office manager and two hygienists huddled in an agitated conference behind the reception counter.
“I should have called you,” said the office manager once Bitsie managed to get her attention. “The dentist won’t be seeing patients this morning.”
“Oh?” said Bitsie. “I hope Dr. Barton isn’t ill.”
“No,” said one of the hygienists. “Nothing like that, she just got a nasty scare this morning, so she decided to go home for the day.”
“Nasty scare?”
“Some guy tried to get into her car, out in the parking lot, when she arrived for work this morning.”
“That’s terrible,” said Bitsie. “No wonder she doesn’t feel up to working today.”
Bitsie certainly didn’t want a jittery dentist wielding a drill anywhere near her teeth.
“It’s probably that same one,” said the receptionist. “You know, that scissor-wielding guy who grabbed that lady in the grocery store parking lot a couple of days ago and cut off a piece of her hair.”
“Did Dr. Barton get a good look at him?” Bitsie asked.
“She did. He was wearing a hat and sunglasses, just like he was the other times, but this time he finally got caught on tape. We have a security camera out front, and Dr. Barton’s parking spot is right underneath it.”
“Yeah,” one of the hygienists chimed in. “They’re going to show it on the local news tonight. See if anyone recognizes the guy.”
Since she wasn’t getting fillings, after all, Bitsie decided she might as well go to the bakery. It was almost eleven, but there would still be plenty to do to get the morning bake put out in the display cases.
When she walked in the back door, Anabel was surprised to see her.
“I thought you were going to the dentist,” said Anabel. “Did he change his mind about giving you fillings?”
“She, actually,” said Bitsie. “I go to Jane Barton. Dr. Barton went home early today. That guy we were talking about yesterday—“
“The creepy scissor dude?”
“Yeah. This morning he tried to get into Jane Barton’s car, just after she pulled into her parking spot at her office.”
“That’s scary,” said Anabel.
“Fortunately, he didn’t hurt her. He didn’t even get away with a piece of her hair. On another bright note, the police finally have security camera footage of him. They’re going to run the images on the news tonight.”
“Maybe someone will recognize him.”
“I hope so,” said Bitsie. “By the way, did Monica stop by and pick up her cupcakes?”
“She did. She stopped by just a little after ten.”
At a quarter ‘til six that evening, just as Bitsie and Nick were getting ready to shut off the lights and lock the doors, the phone next to the register rang.
“Bitsie’s Bakeshop,” Bitsie said into the receiver. Bitsie expected the person on the other end to ask if they were still open, but instead, the caller identified himself as Dale McCall.
“I’m Monica McCall’s husband,” he said, sounding nervous. “I was wondering if you could tell me if Monica was by there earlier today?”
“Yes,” said Bitsie. “She came by to pick up a box of cupcakes.”
“What time?”
“Around ten.”
“You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure. I didn’t see her myself, but one of my bakers did.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“Is something wrong?” Bitsie asked.
“Yeah,” said Dale. “She hasn’t come home yet, and I’m starting to worry.”
“Oh? When did you expect her?”
“We were supposed to meet for lunch, but she didn’t show up.”
“Did she call?”
“No. That’s the thing. I haven’t been able to reach her all day. She left home to run errands right after breakfast this morning, and I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”
Chapter Two
Bitsie called Monica McCall’s cellphone number first thing the following morning. Bitsie hadn’t slept well. It was premature to worry, she told herself. Maybe, Dale and Monica were going through a rough patch in their relationship, and Monica had decided to take a day for herself. Maybe, Monica had run into unforeseen delays while she was out running errands. Maybe her phone had run out of battery, or she’d accidentally switched it off.
Probably, Monica had shown up later in the evening, and they’d all been worried for nothing. Bitsie almost managed to convince herself there was no need for concern but didn’t quite succeed.
There was no answer from Monica’s cell phone. It rang and rang until Monica’s cheerful recorded voice invited her to leave a message.
Bitsie hung up and dialed the number Dale had left her, just in case. He answered on the first ring.
“I was just calling to check and make sure Monica is OK,” Bitsie explained.
“I don’t know,” said Dale, his voice shaking. “I still haven’t heard from her.”
“Has anyone else?”
“Not that I know of,” Dale answered. “As far as I can figure out, your baker was the last person to see her yesterday. She left the house and went to the dry cleaners and the drugstore—people at both places remember seeing her there before ten, but after she left the bakery, she just disappeared.”
“Did you have a fight?” Bitsie hated to pry, but under the circumstances, she didn’t know what else to do.
“No,” said Dale. “And even if we had, there’s no way she would have just taken off. She’s not the kind to do something like that.”
“Has she been depressed at all?” Bitsie asked.
“No!” Dale answered. He sounded a little angry. “I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to help, but—“
“Have you reported her missing?”
“I called the police station, first thing this morning. They told me to bring down a picture. I’m going down there right now.”
“Well, I won’t keep you on the phone, then,” said Bitsie.
Dale hung up with a terse goodbye. Bitsie couldn’t read him. Was he defensive because he was stressed, or did he have something to hide? Then there was another terrible, yet obvious, possibility: the same man who’d tried to get into Jane Barton’s car yesterday morning might have struck again and succeeded in doing more than cutting off a lock of hair this time.
Bitsie sat down on the edge of her bed, her shaking hand clutched around her phone.
“What am I going to do, Max?” she wailed.
Bitsie’s cat, Max, just looked up at her with his big yellow eyes, supremely unhelpful.
She had to do something, Bitsie decided. She’d get a picture of Monica and go looking for the missing woman herself.
Tracking down a picture of Monica couldn’t have been easier. In fact, there were so many to choose from on Monica’s blog that Bitsie selected three and saved them to her phone.
She wished she’d asked Dale for a description of the vehicle Monica had been driving on the day she disappeared, but Bitsie didn’t like to disturb him a second time. Dale was probably down at the police station, at that very moment, filing a missing persons’ report.
Instead, Bitsie settled for calling up Anabel to see if anyone at the bakery might have gotten a good look at the car Monica had been driving when she’d come by the previous morning to pick up the cupcakes.
