Pastries and Puzzles Read online

  Pastries and Puzzles

  by

  Constance Barker

  Copyright 2020 Constance Barker

  All rights reserved.

  Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Thanks for Reading

  Catalog of Books

  Chapter 1

  My mouth opened in a wide yawn. I tried to stifle it down, but the loud, “mmmwwaaahh,” that escaped my lips was anything but muffled. Gilbert Lane shot me an infuriated look from the stage before he continued.

  “You have to visualize what you want. Strongly, actively, visualize and affirm. This is the life I want. This is the life I will have. In my bonus DVD, for just 27 additional dollars, you discover that there are several questions that may prevent you...”

  I couldn’t believe this nonsense.

  But, judging by the rows of nodding heads with note taking hands, plenty of people could.

  It wasn’t my fault this seminar was a giant snooze fest. I was bored out of my mind, and I wasn’t the only one. There was an older gentleman in the back row who sounded like he was literally sawing logs in half.

  His snores echoed through the auditorium and every dozen breaths or so it sounded like his chain saw was choking out the last fumes of fuel. I was worried I would need to give him CPR before the seminar ended.

  “...The additional workbook, only 14 additional dollars, can pinpoint your actualization blocks...”

  This horrid droning actually made me miss the word war back at my bakery, the Mad Hatter.

  I’d left my dear friends and employees Masie and Scooter back at the bakery in hopes they wouldn’t actually off each other due to irreconcilable creative differences. They’d been hurling insults at each other for days over which one of them should represent the Mad Batter in the local baking contest that was coming up.

  Thank goodness they seemed to be almost enjoying it, or I’d need to find something striped to wear and act as referee. But, their incessant squabbling was wearing thin, and I wanted them both to just hug and make up.

  Come to think of it, they had to be enjoying it, because Masie and Scooter came from two very different schools of thought and they had to know better than to think they’d do something like agree on a design.

  Silly me. I thought doing the catering for a high-end seminar at a prominent hotel would be a welcome escape from fighting and fondant. Was I ever wrong. I’d probably be better off back at the bakery listening to Masie and Scooter’s bickering while they slapped at each other with spatulas and came up with insane reasons why one idea wasn’t creative enough.

  It was certainly more creative than 500 pages and five zillion words about thinking really hard about what you want until you got it.

  I was amazed by the volume of people here. Aside from the logger bored to dreams, most of the crowd appeared to be hanging on every word of drivel that seeped from Gilbert’s mouth. Couldn’t they tell he was a smooth-talking scam artist?

  In a desperate attempt to keep my brain from completely turning to mush, I busied myself with rearranging the dessert table. I moved the cupcakes to the front of the table, and pulled the cookies, pastries, and savory treats to the back. Sugar always drew the crowd.

  But nothing more so than the cupcakes.

  The cupcakes were number one selling item in the bakery and most requested when I catered almost any event.

  I was in the middle of refilling the beverage dispensers when Gilbert’s wildly fluffing ramblings took a new turn. I looked up and heard him say, “We’ll be taking a short intermission.”

  Gilbert stepped down from the stage and headed for my table.

  He was wearing a snazzy purple suit, and his shoes likely cost more than I was making for this gig.

  His sandy colored hair, though thinning on top, was immaculately styled. Wire rimmed glasses framed beady eyes that were zeroed in on me. He brushed past attendees, shook a few hands, and then stopped in front of me.

  He scrutinized the assortment of goodies covering the table. Picking up one of the cupcakes, he eyed it distastefully.

  “Your color choices leave something to be desired,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” I couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly.

  “Reds and yellows show power and confidence. You’re catering for a life coach, not some high school melodrama. The pink is all wrong. It says you’re young and naïve. Inexperienced.”

  Wow. Seriously? These were not some random cupcakes I’d pulled off the street. I’d put a lot of time and effort into making sure these were special.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “How long have you been in business? Not long by the looks of this mess. You should buy my DVD. If you want to stay in business, you need to learn a thing or two about how to cater to the general public.”

  His arrogance and holier than thou attitude made me want to reach across the table and slap the smugness right off his face.

  “Perhaps you should worry about your own business, and let me worry about mine.” My voice was too loud, as I cocked an eyebrow towards the still snoring attendee in the back row.

  Gilbert’s face turned bright red. “With an attitude like that, you’re sure to stay small town. Your business will never grow or thrive. I’ll think twice before hiring you again, and I’ll be sure to tell everyone I know. Clearly, the batter isn’t the only thing mad at your bakery.”

  A sizable crowd had gathered around to witness our argument. Biting down my tongue, I refused to discredit myself in front of these people. I was a professional for cripes sake.

  He turned to a woman standing off to the side. “I’ll be in my dressing room preparing for the next half of my presentation. Send someone in to fetch me when it’s time to go back on.”

  With one last glance at me, he stormed away, cupcake still in hand.

  Who did he think he was to criticize me like that? I doubted anyone felt the cupcakes were messing up the energy of his pitch, at all. It didn’t seem very motivational to pay me to provide food, and then insult both the food and me, personally. It really ground my gears.

  “Anything in those workbooks about actualizing decent human etiquette?” I grumbled.

  I tried to keep a smile on my face as the attendees gathered around the table, munching on snacks. Teeth clenched tightly, I ignored the whispers and patronizing glances.

  I heard one hus
hed voice say, “Oh yes, still single. She needs to get Gilbert’s helper workbook and really actualize her future.”

  I swallowed every comeback to that comment and took a deep breath.

  As the break ended and people took their seats, I started to clean up. The sooner I could get out of here the better. I was just about finished when one of the staff members at the venue stopped in front of the table.

  “Mr. Lane would like a glass of sparkling water before he goes back on stage.”

  I’d already packed the cups, so I got one out of the container and handed it to her. She hesitated, her eyes focused down on the table.

  “He specifically asked for you to bring it. He said you’re being paid for this job, so you need to actually do some work.”

  My skin prickled. There was no way this day could get any worse. I slammed the cup down on the table and grabbed the container of sparkling water. The clear liquid sloshed across the table as I furiously filled the cup.

  Snatching the cup up, I stamped across the room and threw myself through the door into the dressing room. Every ounce of my body wanted to fling the cup in Gilbert’s face, but I stopped short when my eyes focused on the scene in front of me.

  Gilbert laid sprawled across the floor. His lips were blue. His glasses were askew, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. A half-eaten cupcake was gripped between his fingers.

  I gasped and stumbled backwards. Holy fug nuggets. This could not be happening again. What am I...the grim reaper?

  Chapter 2

  Turning around, I rushed back through the door and slammed it shut behind me. A woman stood a few feet away. Her eyes were wide and panicked.

  “Was he...was that...is Mr. Lane...dead?”

  The last word was barely a whispered breath from between her quivering lips, but that was all it took. Her face went pale, and, I swore by every ounce of sweet sugary confectioned goodness, every head turned in our direction.

  Hysteria spread through the crowd like wildfire. The hotel staff tried desperately to calm everyone down. Warner Abernathy came in looking annoyed, as if a dead body was beneath his time and attention. At least he had the sense enough to keep everyone contained.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hastily dialed Logan’s number. He answered before the first ring had even finished.

  “Are you okay? I’m on my way there, right now.” Apparently, someone had beaten me to the call.

  “I might have stumbled upon another body,” I said, trying to make light of the situation.

  “You really should stop doing that,” he tried to joke back.

  There was a beat of silence when neither of us spoke before he added, “Sit tight, alright. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Everything was mostly put away, so I started to unpack it once more. The hotel staff came around and handed out treats to the frazzled attendees. No better way to calm a hysterical crowd than with sweet treats.

  As the police started filtering through the doors, I noticed a man standing off to the side eyeing me. When he realized I had seen him, he nodded, and headed my way.

  His stride was purposeful. He was tall and slender with a Clark Gable type of appearance. Dark hair, mustache, strong jaw. His eyes were smoldering. I thought my heart might have missed a few beats. Stupid hormones.

  “Colleen Foster, right? Or Coco rather?” He held out his hand. I placed my palm in his, and he shook it briskly.

  “Yes, and you are?” I asked, a little on edge that he was aware of who I was.

  “Clive. Clive Banks. I watched you run out of the dressing room. What happened? Did Gilbert make a move on you or something?” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

  “Um, I shouldn’t say anything until I’ve spoken with the police. You aren’t a police officer, are you?” His gaze was too intent to be simple curiosity about what happened.

  “Ha. Not even close. I’m just here to better myself. Isn’t that why we’re all here?” He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, feigning innocence.

  “I’m just the caterer.” I bristled at his suggestion that I was one of those lost souls gullible enough to seek self-validation from a con artist.

  He must have sensed that he’d offended me, because his shoulders sagged. He leaned down and in a conspiratorial voice admitted, “I’m actually a reporter. I’m undercover.”

  I raised my eyebrows in disbelief.

  “Honestly. I’m working on a story that would reveal what a scam artist Gilbert is and how he bilked millions from unsuspecting fools looking for help. A first-hand account of a murder investigation from the ground up would be a much more intriguing read. Wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes sparkled mischievously.

  There was something charming about his not so subtle initiative to coerce information from me. Unfortunately for him, I knew better than to reveal pertinent information about a case, especially before I’d even spoken to the police about it.

  Before I could respond, Logan appeared at my side. “Coco, let’s get you out of here.”

  “Oh, Logan, this is...”

  “I know who he is.” He turned his glare on Clive. “You have no right to talk to a potential witness about a budding investigation, Banks. You’d benefit by remembering that.”

  Logan hooked his fingers around my arm and led me away from the reporter. Was he jealous, or was this really about the case? Jealousy would be better.

  “I’m taking you home. You don’t need to hang around here longer than necessary. I can come by and take your statement once we’ve finished up here,” Logan insisted.

  Just like when I’d found Derrick’s body, I had to leave all my supplies at the scene. If this kind of stuff kept happening, I’d need to invest in double of all the equipment I used for the catering side of the bakery.

  When Logan pulled up in front of my building, he turned to face me. I could see the concern and worry in his eyes. “You need to keep a low profile, Coco. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll be back as soon as I can to take your statement.”

  There’s something about the firmness of his words that put me on edge. I could tell he was trying not to worry me, but he wanted me to realize how severe the situation was. Someone was murdered, of course I knew how serious this was.

  In my apartment I felt like a caged animal. Nervous energy pulsed through me and I started baking. Mint strawberry thins, Rose’s favorite and chocolate drops, which were Masie’s. I made it an entire thirty minutes before I reached for the phone and called my friends.

  Surely, Logan didn’t mean I couldn’t talk to Rose and Masie.

  When I told them what happened, they rushed right over.

  “Coco, you poor thing. Why do you insist on being the one to find all these dead people?” Masie cooed.

  “I’m not trying to find dead people. It just keeps happening.” Rose and I shared a knowing glance.

  “It’s odd that such a famous self-help guru would be murdered,” Rose mused, methodically chewing on a cookie.

  “Maybe not. It was fairly obvious, at least to me, that the guy was a total fraud. Perhaps, he swindled the wrong person,” I speculated.

  When Logan came back, he cautioned me not to say too much. His shoulders were tense, and he couldn’t quite meet my gaze.

  “What’s wrong?”

  With a defeated sigh, he finally met my eyes. “Coco, your cupcake. The cupcake Gilbert ate. That’s what killed him. It was poisoned.”

  Rose and Masie both gasped.

  “That makes you a suspect. I know you would never kill anyone, but it doesn’t look good for you at the moment. What happened?” Logan asked.

  “Gilbert and I had an argument. He insulted my colors of cupcakes. Then, just to be an even bigger jerk, he insisted I be the one to bring him water. That’s when I found him. Dead.” I shivered remembering the scene in the dressing room.

  “I’ll get this solved as quickly as I can. Don’t talk to anyone else.” Logan gave my hand a quick sque
eze. His usual laid-back flirtations were nowhere in the room with us. He couldn’t possibly believe I was guilty. Could he?

  When he left, Rose and Masie crowded around me. For the first time since I’d found the body, I was actually worried.

  Chapter 3

  When I woke up the next morning, the only thing I wanted to do was roll up on the couch like a big ball of dough and watch reality TV. I was sure there had to be some kind of marathon going on of some sort. There always was.

  Perhaps an angry housewives of some famous city or an I’m my own twin medical mystery. I didn’t care what, as long as it took my mind off my own life for a few hours.

  Would that make me appear more suspicious, though? I wasn’t sure. Of course, I hadn’t murdered Gilbert. But Logan was right, it didn’t look good for me. How was it possible for one of my cupcakes to have been poisoned?

  Crawling out of bed, I set about getting ready for the day. Business as usual. Perhaps if I acted normal, not guilty here thank you very much, then no one would believe I was responsible.

  It was still early when I arrived at the bakery. A blessing or a curse of a fitful night’s sleep. Either way, the first thing on the agenda was a delicious batch of red velvet cupcakes.

  Scooter was at his station when I entered through the back door into the kitchen. Did that boy ever go home? “Putting the final touches on this bad boy,” he said, nodded at his massive wacky and colorful cake.

  Different size and shaped tiers shot out from every direction and angle. Magical looking fondant creatures were crawling up the sides and dancing around the top. Every color imaginable had a place somewhere in the design whether it was fondant, icing, or gum paste.

  It looked like a cross between a Doctor Seuss world and whatever new and exciting show kids were in love with these days. I was going to have to brush up on my children’s entertainment characters, apparently.

  “What have you got going on over there?” I asked in amazement. I was honestly floored by this kid’s talent every time I saw one of his cakes completed. Sometimes I forgot he was still barely an adult.