A Cold Dose of Murder

Book 3: Cannabis Café Mystery

by Emily George

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Mystery; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

With her cannabis café getting higher-than-high online reviews--and skyrocketing sales--Chloe Barnes discovers that sudden success can leave one killer burn . . .

Chloe still can't believe the magic carpet ride her life has become. From a career-and-romantic crash-and-burn as a Parisian pastry chef, she turned things around by starting the Baked by Chloe cannabis café in her seaside hometown of Azalea Bay, California. Now one of the town’s hottest spots, the café has earned a coveted booth in the Bay's famous summer ice cream festival and Chloe is excited to introduce her cannabis-infused flavors. Plus, a rave review by influential podcaster and food critic Calista Bryant is sending Chloe's sales into orbit—with no bad vibes in sight . . .
 
. . . Until Chloe finds Calista sprawled toes-up under an ice cream food truck—as dead as the Wicked Witch of the West. With so much already on her plate, Chloe is determined to avoid sleuthing this go-round. But when rival café owner and suspect Starr Bright asks Chloe to help prove she’s innocent, she’s soon hip-deep in the many enemies, competitors, and ex-friends the ruthlessly opinionated Calista was expert at racking up. And now Chloe is heading for what could be a life-ending buzz-kill—courtesy of one insidious murderer . . .
 

 
[Cannabis and CBD-infused Recipes Included (always consume responsibly)!]
 
Praise for A Half-Baked Murder

“This fun and fact-filled thematic entry into the cozy mystery genre has it all: a twisty murder investigation, a charming small town, a potential romance with the single guy next door, and recipes. . . . Highly recommended.” —Library Journal, Starred Review

“A richly drawn mystery . . . George has laid the foundation for a series that feels fresh, young, and full of surprises.” —First Clue, Starred Review
 

Release date: February 25, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

There was little more terrifying to me than being in the spotlight. It was a strange fear. Not as understandable as a fear of dying or sharks or heights. And certainly a strange fear for a business owner to have, where being in the spotlight was the entire point of marketing. After all, a successful business was one that people knew about!

But I hated it.

Or maybe it was simply a case of one fear disguising the more real fear beneath: failure.

Because what could be worse than tripping and falling flat on your face with the whole street watching? Or, in this case, any number of the approximately five billion people who used the internet.

I’d argue, nothing could be worse.

“It’s live!” Aunt Dawn shouted as I flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED on the front door of our business, Baked by Chloe.

“Don’t hit play until Grandma Rose gets here,” I called back. “I told her we’d wait for her.”

Today was a big deal. Like, a really big deal. The kind of big deal that can make or break a small business like Baked by Chloe. When it came to the kitchen, I knew exactly what to do. Temperamental pastry doughs? Not a problem. Perfect macaron shells? I could make them in my sleep. Preparing three different dishes at the same time? Child’s play.

Learning to bake with cannabis after my grandma was diagnosed with breast cancer, so I could open my town’s very first weed café catering to customers who enjoyed both medicinal and recreational use? Check it off the bucket list.

But when it came to marketing and promotion and trying to sell myself . . . well, honestly that made me want to crawl under a rock and hide.

Luckily for me—and Baked by Chloe’s bottom line—Aunt Dawn had more balls than a juggling troupe, and she wouldn’t hesitate to ask anyone to support our business. As business co-owners we’re the perfect pairing: I made great food and she made sure we got people through the door. In this case, she’d reached out to the biggest food podcast on the internet, Starch Nemesis, to see if they would feature our little café.

And they’d said yes!

So I’d put on my big girl panties and allowed the podcast’s host to come to the café for a personal taste testing session and now the episode featuring us was live, so Aunt Dawn, Grandma Rose and I were going to have a “listen party” over a batch of cannabis blondies and chai lattes.

Nervous butterflies swirled like a mini tornado in my stomach. To say I’d been anxious for the latest Starch Nemesis episode to air was putting it mildly. Like, milder than the lemon and herb marinade at Nando’s. The host, Calista, was known for her viciously snarky humor—something that had won her millions of fans online—as well as her acute sense of what was hip and what was out in the food scene. Or rather, who was out. She’d been the final nail in the coffin of several restaurant businesses, and many lived in fear of being next on her hit list.

In our world, her word was gospel.

I had no idea if I’d managed to impress her. Only time would tell . . . and that time was less than five minutes away.

As I was sweeping the floor and wiping the tables down to prepare for the next day’s trade, I heard voices coming from the kitchen and the distinctive tinkling of my grandmother’s laughter. But it sounded like there were more people back there than just her and my aunt. A lot more people. Abandoning my broom, I pushed through the swing door that led to the area behind the serving counter, and rounded the corner into the kitchen.

“I hope you don’t mind that I invited some extra guests to the listening party.” She grinned.

My stomach somersaulted when I saw a cluster of people standing in the kitchen and not only because my hunky neighbor slash sort-of date was there. Jake stood a head above everyone else—two above Grandma Rose—and when he smiled the butterflies in my tummy flapped their wings a little harder. His smile exposed a dimple in his cheek and a delighted twinkle in his hazel eyes.

But before he could say anything, my best friend, Sabrina, elbowed her way through the group and grabbed me by the shoulders, giving me a little shake.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were going to be on Starch Nemesis,” she said. “They’re huge! They’re, like, the most listened-to podcast on Spotify right now.”

“They even got a mention on Saturday Night Live,” Jake said with an impressed nod.

“I heard they’re getting a cameo on the next season of Only Murders in the Building,” Lawrence St. James added. He was my grandma’s sort-of boyfriend. “Quite a good program, that one. I like Steve Martin.”

“And Calista has written a book!” Aunt Dawn chimed in. “Anecdotes from her time in the food industry.”

“Sounds juicy.” Her girlfriend, Maisey, nodded. She was tall, almost as tall as Jake, and had blond hair cut into a shaggy pixie cut. Whereas my aunt dressed like a hippie, Maisey was all American prep in a Ralph Lauren blazer, slim-cut blue jeans and ballet flats. “I bet she has all kinds of wild stories to share.”

With each eager and excited comment I felt a boulder expand in my stomach. It was like a snowball, rolling itself in my fears and doubts, growing bigger and bigger until I could barely breathe from the pressure of it. I’d only intended the listening party to be my aunt, my grandma and me. I was already nervous about millions of people online hearing Calista’s thoughts about our café, but somehow having people I know hearing what she had to say made me feel even more anxious.

“You’re going to be famous.” Sabrina linked her arm through mine.

For a brief moment I thought my lunch was going to rush back up and splatter all over the floor, but I pressed a hand to my stomach and managed to quell the nausea. Famous was not on my list of goals. Baked by Chloe had opened to an eager customer base and we had no trouble filling the seats and selling out of our products. That was what was important to me—not having people online know my name.

“Come on,” Jake said, coming to my other side and reaching for my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

“I’m not nervous,” I lied.

“You’re just green in the face because it’s some new beauty trend then?” He nudged me with his elbow. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Chloe. Your baking is second to none.”

I felt some of my tension ease a little. I knew my baking was top notch—one didn’t graduate from Le Cordon Bleu with a fistful of job offers for no reason, after all. I was well trained, had been mentored by gifted chefs and knew the value of working my tush off. That I wasn’t worried about. It was more the fact that I was a bit of an awkward turtle and tended to ramble when I was nervous. What if Calista said as much in her podcast?

The damage is done now. No point sticking your head in the sand.

“Let’s get this party started,” I said, with as much cheer as I could muster. Aunt Dawn had cut the blondies into smaller pieces so everyone could have a bite, and she’d also raided the refrigerator for some fresh fruit to go with it.

Blondies, for the uninitiated, are cocoa-free brownies which have a more buttery-vanilla flavor. I’d wanted to make a fun, summery twist on the traditional weed brownie and had mixed in some white chocolate, lemon and macadamia nuts along with a special strain of cannabis called Christmas Morning, which I had recently bought from a local grower. This strain of cannabis contained a set of sweeter terpenes which gave the cannabis a natural blueberry-like flavor profile, pairing excellently with the blondies’ sweet ingredients. A sprinkle of salt and zesty lemon rind provided balance and stopped it veering into toothache territory.

Maisey helped with the drinks and soon we were settled at the tables usually reserved for our customers. Jake was pairing his phone to the portable speaker that usually lived in the kitchen, blasting my favorite late-2000s pop tunes while I worked early in the morning. Next to him, Lawrence St. James was readjusting the pocket square in his tweed sports coat and marveling over the power of Bluetooth while my grandmother looked on indulgently. Sabrina and Aunt Dawn were distributing plates and food, and Maisey and I made sure everyone had a beverage.

I glanced around the café, taking in the soft-pink wallpapered walls and white furniture, the vintage chandelier, the Parisian-themed art, including a beautiful watercolor painting of the Arc de Triomphe, and the wonderful group of people gathered at the tables we’d pushed together. No matter what Starch Nemesis had to say about my business, I could sleep soundly at night knowing my life was an embarrassment of riches. I had a wonderful grandma and aunt to call my family, amazing friends who supported me, a gorgeous café I was proud to invite townsfolk into and the knowledge that I was helping to destig-matize cannabis for the folks who used it.

That was what mattered to me.

“Are we all ready?” Jake asked. I could see the Starch Nemesis logo showing up on his podcast app, above some text.

“Ready,” I said, and my voice only cracked a little.

Jake pushed play and the familiar opening credits music drifted up from the portable speakers, filling the café with the cheerful melodic chimes. Then Calista’s voice cut in.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was glowing. Calista Bryant had given Baked by Chloe a fantastic review, saying that the pastries were better than most she’d had in Paris. The best compliment might have been that my talent for flavor went above and beyond what she’d expected; rather than hiding the cannabis away behind rich chocolates and caramels, I’d used other flavors to help the cannabis shine.

Calista signed off the episode with her signature flourish and I slumped back in my chair, relief flooding my body. Sabrina let out an excited squeal and Jake reached out to squeeze my shoulder.

“Well, my dear, that was a total success,” declared Grandma Rose. She had a bright pink silk scarf wrapped around her head as it was too hot to wear her wig today. Since starting chemo for breast cancer a few months back, she’d lost all her hair and preferred to keep her scalp covered up. “I am not at all surprised, mind you.”

“I am,” I muttered. “Did you hear how she ripped into Sprout?”

Sabrina made an eek face. “That was . . . rough.”

Sprout was a local LA-inspired health and wellness café, as well as an Instagram haven with a menu that consisted of such items as antioxidant crystal-charged smoothie bowls, antitoxin charcoal bars, and anti–bad vibes power balls . . . I had no idea what ingredients could legitimately claim to get rid of bad vibes, so the Goop reference didn’t feel far off. Still, even though I wasn’t a huge fan of Sprout’s capitalization on pseudoscience wellness trends, their food was good. Excellent, even. It was a super popular lunch spot in town and the owner did a roaring trade, with good reason.

“Starr is not going to be happy with that review,” I said, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t be either, frankly.”

Calista had ripped the place apart, criticizing everything from the menu to the decor to the owner herself.

“I agree it was harsh,” Aunt Dawn said. “But Starr can handle herself. And the most important thing is that Calista loved Baked by Chloe! Do you know how many people are going to listen to this episode telling people how great your food is? This could bring huge business to our door.”

The nervous butterflies had thankfully vacated the premises, and left behind were some more excited, happy butterflies. “You’re right.”

“And with Calista coming for the ice cream festival, I’m sure she’ll give us a shout-out on social media.” Aunt Dawn fluffed out her frizzy dark purple hair, making the thick stack of bangles on her wrist clatter and clank. “We’re going to be busier than ever!”

“Congratulations, Chloe.” Jake leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I felt my face heat up to approximately a billion degrees, but I was too thrilled to be embarrassed or to overthink what it meant for Jake to kiss me in front of my family. “You’ve got exciting things in front of you.”

Under the table I reached for his hand. “I think so, too.”

I’d turned my life around in the last few months and it was hard not to almost float off the ground with satisfaction. But little did I know that episode 143 of Starch Nemesis was about to become the center of attention . . . for all the wrong reasons.

The next day Baked by Chloe was abuzz with chatter about the podcast. I’d had no less than ten customers mention that they’d popped in because they’d heard the episode and had decided to come check it out. One pair of friends had even driven three hours off course from their road trip plans just to visit! I was overwhelmed and overjoyed.

“See,” Aunt Dawn said with a smug smile as the line of customers finally trickled down to nothing.

It was late afternoon and we were closing within the hour, so the rush had passed and now the people who remained were happily munching away on their cannabis baked goods and enjoying some of the beverages we made including our top favorites: the calming CBD chai latte (aka our “hug in a mug” drink) and the fruity canna-gria made with nonalcoholic sparkling pink wine. I’d also started putting out little bowls of “munchies mix” on the tables—which consisted of nuts, dried fruit, chocolate chips and broken cookie pieces—to encourage people not to overconsume the cannabis items, especially if it was their first time.

“See what?” I asked, knowing I was in for a full I-told-you-so moment.

“You were worried about me reaching out to Starch Nemesis and look at how well it went.” She gestured to our dining area, where every table was full. There were even a few solo folks who’d paired up to share a table with someone they didn’t know, just so they could dine in. That made me smile. “This is usually our quietest day and we’re packed to the brim.”

“You were right and I was wrong,” I admitted.

“What was that?” Aunt Dawn cupped her ear, making a rather large pair of gold and purple enamel chandelier earrings shudder with the motion. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

I laughed and gave her a playful shove. “You know I can admit when I’m being a scaredy-cat. I was terrified Calista was going to rip us apart with the whole world listening.”

“You have to believe in yourself, girlie.” Aunt Dawn grabbed some paper towels and started cleaning the serving area in preparation for closing time. We were just about sold out of everything—only two of my cannabis-infused “everything but the kitchen sink” cookies remained, along with a lone square of blondie—so there was no harm in getting a jump start on the closing procedure. “I knew people would come far and wide for your baking.”

“The weed doesn’t hurt, either,” I said with a laugh.

The whole cannabis baking thing was so not the direction I thought my life would take. Not too long ago I was living in Paris, working as a pastry chef in an exclusive fine dining restaurant with my sights set on Michelin stardom. Oh, and I was engaged.

But in a matter of days my entire life had deflated like a poorly executed soufflé. I’d found out my fiancé had cheated on me with someone at work and had gotten her pregnant. Of course, it was that night a famous food critic showed up at the restaurant where we both worked and, I’m sad to say, I was not at the top of my game. When his review came out a week later, he’d called my dessert a bitter disappointment better suited to a supermarket bakery than a 5-star restaurant. Maybe that was why I was so scared for Calista to review us on her podcast. I’d been shredded before! Anyway, after that scathing critique, the universe had really wanted to kick me while I was down because Grandma Rose had been to the doctor and it wasn’t good news.

The big C.

So I had abandoned my Parisian dreams and headed home to Azalea Bay, the cute Californian tourist town I’d called home most of my life, to look after my grandmother and figure out where I was headed next. Turned out I wasn’t headed back to Paris or even back to a restaurant working for some talented but temperamental chef. After my usually straight-as-an-arrow grandma requested some weed brownies to help with the unpleasant side effects of her chemo treatments—well, it’s not like I’m going to smoke it, she’d said when her doc had suggested that cannabis might help—I learned how to bake with weed.

Then suddenly I was running a weed café. Life was strange like that—just when you thought everything was going wrong, the right path opened up.

“Girlie, people would come to eat your food even without the chance to get high. That’s just the icing on the cake!” She winked.

“Or should that be, the funk on the skunk?”

Aunt Dawn snorted. “Now you’re talking like me.”

While I was personally more into the medicinal benefits that cannabis provided for people like my grandma, Aunt Dawn indulged for the fun of it. She was the kind of person who lived life to the fullest and indulged every desire that came to her. Frankly, my type-A backside could probably learn a thing or three there.

But before Aunt Dawn and I could further devolve into trading puns, the front door to Baked by Chloe swung open and in walked our employee, Erica. I blinked in surprise. “What are you doing back here so soon?”

Erica had finished her shift at 2 p.m., and while she was a hard worker and the kind of person who always went above and beyond, there was literally no reason for her to be here when we were getting ready to close.

She raked a hand through her close-cropped blond hair, the ends of which were currently tipped with bright pink dye. “Uh, any chance we could talk?”

I glanced at Aunt Dawn with a worried expression and she waved a hand. “Go on out back, I’ll hold the fort until we close.”

I motioned for Erica to follow me out back to the kitchen. “You talk and I’ll clean.”

After years of formal training, I kept my kitchen neat and tidy as I worked, so there wasn’t a huge mess to clean at the end of the day. But I still liked to give my food prep area a thorough wipe down and disinfect, as well as making sure all my tools were in the right spot so I could come in the following morning and get right to it.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked.

Erica stood nervously at the edge of the kitchen, her hands jammed into her pockets. It wasn’t like her to look so hesitant. Erica and I had first met when Sabrina invited me to join her Dungeons and Dragons group after I’d moved back home. I’d loved the group instantly and found Erica to be forthright and upbeat, if a little blunt at times. But I liked that—you always knew where you stood with her. Later, she had been looking for work and I had desperately needed an extra pair of hands. It was a match made in heaven!

But usually if she had something on her mind, it wouldn’t take much for her to blurt it out.

“You’re freaking me out, girl.” I let out a nervous laugh as I wiped down the stainless-steel preparation table.

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “I, uh . . . are you on Facebook?”

“I mean, I have an account. But it’s gathering digital dust.” Social media wasn’t my favorite pastime, since I found it caused a lot of comparison-itis and I preferred to stay in my own lane. “I use Instagram sometimes, but even that hasn’t been updated in a while.”

Did Baked by Chloe need its own social accounts? Perhaps not, if our full seats were anything to go on. But did neglecting that make me a bad business owner? Possibly. Perhaps I could get Erica to take on some additional responsibilities for a raise.

“So you haven’t seen Starr’s post?” she said, dragging my attention back to our conversation.

I stilled at the workbench. “What post?”

It didn’t take a genius to guess what the post was about. I’d already heard some folks gossiping about the absolute verbal smackdown Sprout had gotten from Starch Nemesis. I felt bad for Starr, honestly. Putting our differences in philosophy and taste to one side, I knew without a doubt that she took her business very seriously. It was her baby. Her pride and joy. And someone had just told the world they thought it was trash.

She had every right to be upset.

“She went off about the podcast,” Erica said, her large eyes widening further. I noticed that she was already dressed for our Dungeons and Dragons catchup later that night, wearing a T-shirt that said “arcane trust fund kid” as a funny nod to her character’s sorcerer class. “Like, totally freaking bananas.”

“I’m not surprised. Starr likes to tell everyone she’s all peace and light, but that had to hurt. It felt almost . . . personal.” Calista hadn’t pulled any punches with her opinion on Sprout. “But I guess that’s kind of the Starch Nemesis MO, right? Calista knows how to whip the audience into a frenzy and she isn’t afraid to polarize people. It’s why the show is so popular.”

Sadly, these days positivity didn’t seem to garner as many clicks online. If you wanted eyeballs (or in this case, auditory nerves), then it was better to be outrageous than to be kind. Thankfully, however, Calista had seen fit to bless Baked by Chloe with one of her rare totally glowing reviews. But those reviews were rare for a reason.

“Maybe it’s better if I show you the post,” Erica said, pulling her phone out of the back pocket of her light-wash jeans. One hole split across her thigh with shaggy frayed edges, allowing a peek of skin to show through. “Here.”

She handed over her phone and the long diatribe was on display. The rant was riddled with spelling errors, likely because Starr had typed it out in such a rage that autocorrect hadn’t a snow cone’s chance in hell of keeping up.

“Calista Bryant is nothing but an ill-informed bully. She’s the Wicked Witch of the West Coast and she won’t be happy until she destroys anyone who dares challenge her.” I raised both eyebrows and looked at Erica. “Yikes. Starr really went for it.”

“Keep reading.” Erica motioned with her hand.

I scanned on while Starr called the podcast “unethical” and “no better than cheap tabloid media” and a litany of other insults while defending both herself and her idol, Gwyneth Paltrow—which, in my mind, wasn’t really helping her case.

“Calista should be ashamed of herself . . . blah, blah, blah. . . .” I scanned to the next paragraph where my stomach suddenly jolted. “I would bet that the businesses who receive positive reviews from Calista have done something outside the kitchen to deserve them.”

I blinked. Did she . . .

“She’s insinuating that you paid for your review,” Erica said.

My mouth popped open. “That’s ridiculous!”

“I know it is.” Erica nodded. “But other people might believe her. You know Starr is very much a part of the community here and some people think she knows everything.”

“You’re totally right.” A sinking feeling manifested in my stomach. Starr had a reputation around town for being “in the know,” and if there was some kind of scandal regarding paid reviews then people would expect her to have the dirt. I continued reading the post.

I stood for a moment, silently staring at Erica’s phone, my earlier excitement about the podcast evaporating like smoke.

“I wanted you to know as soon as possible rather than overhear s. . .