On the shores of Lake Michigan, influencer Maddy Montgomery has turned the bakery she inherited from her great aunt Octavia into a destination. There’s just one thing she won’t post: the body in the freezer . . .
Thanks to Maddy’s social media savvy, Baby Cakes Bakery is becoming a huge success—so much so that she’s attracted the attention of her former nemesis, the fiancé-stealing Brandy Denton. When Brandy blows into New Bison like an ill wind and disrupts a vlog Maddy’s filming, their argument goes viral. After Brandy’s body is found in the freezer at Baby Cakes, Maddy instantly goes from viral sensation to murder suspect.
As Maddy is still reeling from the murder, a stranger shows up in the bakery claiming to have been a friend of Octavia. He believes Maddy is in danger. When a second body washes up on the lake shore, it seems clear someone’s out to kill to keep a secret—and it may have to do with her great aunt.
Maddy rallies her aunt’s friends, the Baker Street Irregulars; Sheriff April Johnson; and her veterinarian boyfriend Michael—not to mention her English mastiff Baby—to do some digging and root out whoever’s behind the killings . . .
Release date:
July 23, 2024
Publisher:
Kensington Books
Print pages:
288
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I blame the Admiral. Being raised by an admiral in the United States Navy who dragged me to military bases all over the world meant that when I hear a loud explosion that sounds like gunfire, I duck and take cover. I expect explosions, gunfire, and even drone attacks when overseas, or on a military base during training exercises. I don’t expect to have to crawl under a desk in my home in the peaceful lakefront town of New Bison, Michigan—Population 1,600. But there was an explosion. One loud bang and then smaller, rapid-fire bangs, like a machine gun. I leaped from my chair and dove. It was a reflex action, like kicking your leg when a doctor hits your shin with a little rubber hammer. Stop. Drop. And roll. No, wait. That’s what you do for fire. What is the mantra for when you’re under attack? Stop. Drop. And hide? Whatever. I glanced up and saw my two-hundred-fifty-pound English mastiff staring at me. His head was cocked to the side, and he gave me a puzzled stare.
“Baby, come!” I ordered.
English mastiffs can be stubborn, and Baby was no exception, but he had been well trained by my great-aunt Octavia and rarely refused a direct command.
“Baby, come!”
He sighed and inched closer.
When he was within reach, I grabbed him by his collar and tried to pull the massive dog under the desk with me. It was an effort in futility. He wouldn’t fit, but I felt a certain amount of comfort just holding onto this muscular beast.
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and quickly dialed my roommate and friend, Sheriff April Johnson.
“April. Someone’s shooting at the house.”
“Are you serious? Who would be shooting at you? Are you sure?”
Before I could respond, there was another explosion. Fortunately, April heard it.
“OMG! I’m on my way and calling for backup. Where are you?”
“Baby and I are taking cover under the desk upstairs. I—”
“Maddy? Are you home? I came to drop off a few . . . What the—”
I recognized the voice. It was Leroy Danielson, the head baker at my bakery.
“Leroy, take cover! Someone’s shooting and it’s not safe!” I yelled.
“What’s going on? What’s Leroy doing?” April yelled. “I’m sending a squad car to the house.”
Despite the carpet, footsteps pounded like a platoon on the stairs. Was it Leroy? Or, had the shooter taken him out and come in search of more victims? I looked around for a weapon. Unlike my dad, the Navy Admiral, or my boyfriend, the ex-Army officer, I didn’t know how to defend myself with a paperclip. The only thing within reach that might be slightly useful as a weapon was my wireless keyboard. I slid the keyboard off the desk, and climbed out from underneath. I hurried behind the door and wielded it like a Louisville Slugger.
My first clue that the intruder wasn’t intent on murder was Baby’s reaction. He stood up and faced the door. His tail wagged.
The door opened and Baby trotted forward, got up on his hind legs, and proceeded to give the intruder a face wash.
“Yuck! Baby, off.” Leroy stuck his head around the door and caught sight of me.
I lowered my keyboard and tried to hide it behind my back. “Is the shooter gone?”
“What shooter?” Leroy asked.
“Didn’t you hear the gunshots?”
“Gunshots?” Leroy thought for a few moments and then a smile broke out on his face.
“Yes, shooter. Look, I know what gunfire sounds like, and I heard gunshots.”
“Come with me.” Leroy turned and headed downstairs.
Alternating between tiptoeing and clutching the back of Leroy’s shirt, I followed him downstairs and into the kitchen. My normally pristine kitchen looked like a war zone. Bits of white, yellow, and brown shrapnel were everywhere. “What the—”
Leroy walked over to the stove. “Were you boiling eggs?”
“Yes. I promised April I’d boil five dozen eggs for the Easter Egg Hunt at the police station.”
“So, you put five dozen eggs in a pot together?”
I nodded.
“How long ago and how much water?”
I glanced at my watch. “An hour.”
I could barely hear the sirens from the police cars over Leroy’s laughter.
April burst through the door with her gun out and ready to fire. She was followed by Officers Al Norris and Jerrod Thomas from the New Bison Police. She quickly assessed the scene and then lowered her weapon. She pulled out her radio. “False alarm.”
Normally, Baby would have greeted April with love and affection, but he was too busy devouring the remains of the exploded eggs that were covering every surface of the kitchen.
Leroy pulled out his camera and started videotaping the chaos.
Experience told me that I’d never get the phone away from him before he had the catastrophe documented and making its way through cyberspace.
“Just when I thought I was getting a handle on this cooking thing . . . this happens.” I stared at the ceiling.
Six months ago, I couldn’t boil water. That was before I inherited a bakery from my great-aunt Octavia, and had made significant progress. Thanks to lessons from Leroy and the recipes Great-Aunt Octavia left me, I’d even won the local baking festival. But, as my other assistant, Hannah Portman, often said, “Pride comes before the fall.”
After April got over her anger and frustration, she laughed at me, too. “Maddy, I can’t believe you left five dozen eggs in a pot to boil for over an hour.” Hilarious cackling followed.
“I was revising the Baby Cakes website and I must have gotten distracted. I forgot.” I grabbed a broom and swung it overhead to remove the exploded eggs and shells that were stuck to the ceiling, light fixtures, and walls like glue. Interesting that my most humiliating cooking experiences all involved eggs. “Eggs are my nemesis.”
Leroy and April took rags and helped with the cleanup, but they didn’t make a lot of progress because they kept bursting out laughing every few minutes.
Leroy’s cell phone dinged like a bell-ringing Santa in front of the Salvation Army at Christmas from people who loved the video he’d uploaded. As a social media influencer, I’d long ago tucked my ego away in a closet. Sadly, the more humiliating a video, the more views. When my ex-fiancé, Elliott, was a no-show for our live-streamed wedding, and I was left at the altar in humiliation, I went viral and got the highest number of views I’d ever gotten. At the time, I thought my world was over and wondered if I’d ever be able to show my face online again. What a difference a few months made. Six months later, I was scraping eggs off the ceiling, but thanks to Great-Aunt Octavia, I owned a house, a bakery, and a two-hundred-fifty-pound English mastiff. I had friends and there was Michael. I grinned at the thought of how completely different my life was now and how much happier I was. Thank you, Elliott.
Baby stopped eating eggs and stood on his hind legs. He tilted his head to the side and listened. After a few moments, he went to the back door, barked once, and wagged his tail.
I opened the door without waiting for the peal of the doorbell or a knock.
“Is that some type of sixth sense?” Michael stood with his hand poised to knock.
“I’ve got my own alert system.” I stepped aside to show him Baby.
Normally, Michael Portman was ruggedly handsome with dark skin, light gray eyes, and a five-o’clock shadow. Today, that shadow was set to nine o’clock and when he kissed me and nuzzled my ear, I felt an overwhelming desire to scratch.
I pulled away and gazed into his eyes. “You look awful.”
“Thanks.” He pulled a piece of eggshell from my hair and glanced around the kitchen. “What the heck happened?”
“Don’t ask and don’t change the subject.”
He had to work to keep from grinning. “Let me guess, egg mishap?”
Leroy showed him the video and Michael tried hard not to laugh, but he failed. Soon, he, April, and Leroy were all chuckling like they were at a comedy show. I can’t be the only person who’d ever exploded eggs before.
“Come on, Baby.” I tugged his leash, but a large mound of eggs took that exact moment to fall off the light fixture and he was determined to devour it. Normally, I would have worried about his consumption of the shells, but according to Google, eggs and the shells were a good source of protein, whether cooked or raw.
After a bit more laughter, Michael wrapped his arms around me and hugged me close. “Hey, Squid. I’m sorry.”
After graduating from Princeton, Michael spent four years in the Army. He’d been an animal care specialist, which is where he discovered how much he loved working with animals, so he went back to school to become a veterinarian. As the daughter of a Navy admiral, we often exchanged friendly quips.
“Don’t call me Squid.” I gave his chest a light tap.
He mumbled something that brought heat to my cheeks and then he kissed me and the heat moved down throughout the rest of my body.
“Ahem. Now that the active-shooter situation has been neutralized, I need to get back to work.” April cleared her throat and passed her rag to Michael. She gave Baby a scratch and then left.
“I need to . . . um . . . head out, too.” Leroy dropped his towel on the counter and headed for the door.
“Wait. What did you come by for?” I asked.
“I picked up a box of supplies. I left them in your car. Oh, and I almost forgot.” Leroy reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He made a few swipes and then held it up so I could see the pictures he’d taken at his baking class.
“Wow. Looks like a full house.”
“The class was full, and so was the overflow area.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe people pay money to sit and watch other students learn to bake, but you were right.”
“Who’s that man?” I used my fingers to stretch the photo and pointed.
Michael and Leroy looked over my shoulder at the photo, but both shrugged.
“No idea,” Leroy said. “Why?”
“No reason. I’ve seen him hanging out near the bakery a lot lately.”
“Maybe he just likes your buns.” Michael winked.
“And on that note, I’m out of here,” Leroy said. He and Michael fist-bumped before he left.
Michael reached for me. “Now I have you all to myself.”
I sidestepped and turned to him. “I think we were talking about how tired you look.”
“Really? I don’t remember that conversation at all. I thought we were talking about something completely different.” Michael sat on one of the barstools that was around the massive kitchen island and propped his chin with his hand.
“The reason you don’t remember the conversation is because you’re so tired you can barely think straight.”
“Who me? Tired?” His argument might have carried more weight if he hadn’t yawned.
“Michael, you’ve been working like a slave, and you’re wearing yourself out.”
“Business is good.” He shrugged. “Besides, I love what I do, and my patients need me. Why is that bad?”
I leaned across the bar and looked into his eyes. “I’m glad you love your job, and I know your patients love you, but I’ve grown rather fond of you, too.”
He caressed my lips with his finger. “Really? I had no idea.”
I stood up and prepared for my second attack, but he preempted me. “Maddy, I know I’ve been working a lot of hours, and you’re right.”
“What?” I cupped my ear. “Is that a G.I. admitting he was wrong?” I joked.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
I took a dishcloth and swatted his arm, but he was too quick for me, and he grabbed the end of the towel and pulled me around the bar and onto his lap. He kissed me thoroughly. When we came up for air, he held me close. “Okay, Squid. I really have been listening, and you’re right. I’ve been putting in a lot of time at the practice, so I’m thinking of bringing in a partner to help out.”
“That’s great.”
“In fact, I was hoping that you and I could spend a lot more time together. In fact, I have been meaning to ask you something. I—”
My phone pinged, and I glanced down to see that Leroy had sent me the photos from his cooking class. I stole one quick look at the first photo and then returned my attention to Michael, but I was immediately yanked back to my phone.
I picked up the phone and swiped the photo to enlarge it and gasped. “No. No. Heck NO!”
“Excuse me?”
“Of all the people to make their way to New Bison, Michigan. . . It can’t be . . . There’s no way that witch would dare show her face here . . . at Baby Cakes . . . It just can’t be.”
He looked at the picture on my phone. “Who is she?”
“Brandy Denton. And if I see her in my bakery, I’m going to kill her.”
I gritted my teeth and did a couple of laps pacing from the stove to the bar around my kitchen. “That fiancé-stealing, two-faced shrew has a lot of nerve showing her face here.”
“Ah . . . Brandy Denton. She’s the girl who—”
“Who pretended to be my friend while she was stealing my fiancé? Yep. That’s her.”
Michael stood his ground in front of me and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Actually, I was going to say isn’t she the one who saved you from marrying the wrong man.”
Something in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. The wrong man. Is he implying that he is the right man? My voice froze, and my mouth forgot how to form words. All I could do was stare dumbfounded. Eventually, I nodded.
“Then, I’d say we need to thank her. Maybe I should pay her a visit and tell—”
“Oh, no you don’t. You stay away from Brandy Denton.”
“Nobody can steal someone who doesn’t want to go.”
“I know.”
“And for the record, I’m not Elliott and I’m not going anywhere. He might have been crazy enough to let you go, but I’ve got more sense than that.” He wrapped his arms around me, and electricity shot through my body.
He kissed me and I forgot about Elliott, Brandy Denton, and exploded eggs until his phone rang. He swore and pulled away.
I took a moment to catch my breath while he answered. I only heard one side of the conversation, but I could tell it was an emergency.
“I can be there in about fifteen minutes. Keep her warm and calm.” He disconnected and turned to me. “I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s okay. Drive safely, and text me when you get home.”
He kissed me and then pulled away. As he hurried out the door, he mumbled, “I definitely need to get help.”
The house was eerily quiet and darker after Michael left and the empty void wasn’t just in the house. The emptiness was inside me.
Baby stopped eating exploded eggs and stood up. He had eggshells on his nose, and a large piece of the yellow yolk was on the top of his head.
I took out my phone and snapped a photo and uploaded it.
He gave himself a shake, flinging drool around like tinsel on a Christmas tree.
“Ugh.” I got the Lysol wipes from the cabinet and gave the kitchen a thorough cleaning. Another thing I would never have done six months ago. I glanced down at my shorter and less blinged-out nails. I still got a manicure every two weeks, but instead of the dramatically long claws that I’d worn most of my life, I now wore my natural nails in a clean French manicure that allowed me to cook, clean, and type.
I glanced around at my clean, sanitized kitchen with a sense of pride. Another surprise. I enjoyed cleaning. I loved seeing something dirty sparkle. Plus, it didn’t require a lot of thought or decisions. I still struggled with making decisions. All evidence of my egg debacle was completely gone, so I put away the cleaning supplies.
My stomach did a few flip-flops and I felt jittery. I didn’t think I had enough caffeine that day. It took a lot of caffeine for me to get moving. I didn’t even remember touching my fourth cup. I glanced at my watch. I had time.
“Come on, boy.”
With no more eggs to eat, Baby moved to the dog bed I bought for the dining room and stared at me with an accusatory look. You could have left some of those eggs for me.
I ignored the look. “Let’s go for a ride.”
He lifted his head but still didn’t budge.
“Okay, fine. I’ll get a Red Eye, and you can have a pup cup.”
At last. The magic words: pup cup. Or, in his case, a full-blown mountain of whipped cream in a cup. Baby stretched and then slowly climbed down and ambled to the back door.
I was still adjusting to my new SUV, a Rivian R1S, a gift from the Admiral. When I first came to New Bison, it was winter, and I hadn’t planned to stay, so I’d left my sports car at home and rented a car to get me around until I could go back to the warmth of California. Fortunately, the lady behind the rental car counter ignored my request for a sporty luxury vehicle and put me in a Range Rover. After a short time with a two-hundred-fifty-pound dog who drooled like a faucet, I bought it. After he destroyed the inside of the vehicle and broke a window to get to me when he thought I was in danger, it had to be put out to pasture. Most of the time, Baby was a giant goofball, but when he went into protection mode, he was as tenacious as a Navy SEAL.
I smiled at the realization that my change in vehicles mirrored the same changes that my life had taken. I’d gone from a social media influencer intent on living the life of a reality television star to that of a baker and business owner. My new Rivian R1S wasn’t close to the same level of luxury as the convertible I’d driven in L.A., or even the Range Rover with its soft leather seats and wood dashboard. My dad thought I’d lost my mind when he saw the Rivian’s vegan leather seats. In other words, fake. Or, what Michael’s grandmother called pleather. Still, it was an all-electric SUV that had all-wheel drive, perfect for Michigan winters. Lots of space for hauling around baked goods, supplies, or two-hundred-fifty-pound English mastiffs. However, the key selling feature for me was the pet-comfort mode. Similar to Michael’s Tesla, pet comfort kept the air-conditioning and radio going while I ran into a store so Baby could remain cool and comfortable without me having to crack the windows. For most people, lowering the windows even a small amount could make it easier for thieves to steal a small dog or even your vehicle. In Baby’s case, being able to keep the windows up was a safety feature for anyone with ill intent who got too close. Plus, I liked . . .
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