Death by Red Velvet Latte

Book 16: Bookstore Cafe Mystery

by Alex Erickson

Genres: Animal Cozy Mysteries; Culinary Cozy Mysteries; Mystery

Synopsis

As bookstore café owner Krissy Hancock worries over her wedding plans, the double murder of rival bakers really takes the cake . . .

At Krissy’s Death by Coffee bookstore café in Pine Hills, Ohio, she’s trying out a new red velvet latte, which she also plans to serve at her wedding along with the red velvet cake a local baker is making. But with the wedding only weeks away, the baker has to cancel due to health reasons. What should have been a cakewalk turns into a last-minute scramble. Krissy and her fiancé Paul meet with two competing cake decorators at the same time, who seem more interested in going at each other than baking her cake.

The next day, when Krissy walks into the bakery to make her choice, she finds both bakers dead with a red velvet cake splattered on the floor. Did they kill each other? she wonders. Over a cake? But soon it’s revealed this mystery has many layers, and any way you slice it, Krissy has to do two more things before she walks down the aisle: solve the murder—and find another baker. Piece of cake, right?

Release date: October 27, 2026

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

I stared at the calendar app on my phone and could feel my blood pressure rising.

Two weeks. I had two weeks until I’d be walking down the aisle to marry Paul Dalton in front of all our friends and family. Two weeks until I was no longer just Krissy Hancock, co-owner of Death by Coffee, but would be Krissy Dalton, which was somehow, in my mind, drastically different in more than just the name.

I so wasn’t ready.

My fluffy orange cat, Misfit, meowed as he watched me from atop the island counter he wasn’t supposed to be sitting on. He gave it a heartbeat before he reached out and laid a paw on my arm, claws extended just enough to poke into me without actually hurting me—his version of a gentle nudge.

“I know, I know,” I said, rubbing him behind the ears. “I’m supposed to be gone by now.”

Misfit meowed in agreement.

I pocketed my phone, grabbed my keys, and was soon on the way to Death by Coffee.

I was a bundle of nervous agitation as I drove, hands shaking on the wheel, leg jiggling back and forth. The last vestiges of summer showed on the leaves of the trees I passed on my way downtown. They hadn’t quite turned yet, but I hoped they would before my wedding day. I liked the myriad of colors produced by the fall weather, and how those colors symbolized change.

Of course, I wasn’t so sure how much change I could handle right then. Paul and I were about to be married, yet we still hadn’t found a place to live together. Both our houses were too small for the two of us, along with our combined trio of pets. And while Paul had offered to have his dogsitter, Susie, keep his two huskies for a month or two while we looked, neither of us really liked the idea of abandoning the dogs, even if we adored Susie like family.

Today will be the day, I promised myself as I parked just down the street from Death by Coffee, leaving the front of the bookstore café open for customers to park. It was a little less than an hour before we were due to open, yet I’d asked one of our longest-termed employees, Beth Milner, to come in with me early so we could sample the red velvet latte recipe I’d found that I hoped to serve alongside the red velvet cake at my wedding. After that, I would help set up for the day, get through the morning rush, and then I would meet with Paul so we could look at a new house or two, and then …

It was too exhausting to think about all the stuff I still had to do, so I mentally forced myself to stop there before I became too overwhelmed.

If I wasn’t there already.

Beth was waiting for me outside the door, beneath the steaming cup of coffee sitting on an open book that served as the store’s sign. Her brown hair was tinged with streaks of blond, and was tied up in a ponytail, as she often did while she worked.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, hurrying over, keys jangling. “You could have let yourself in.”

Beth smiled. “I know. But it’s nice out this morning. I didn’t mind waiting.”

Door unlocked, I held it open for her. “Thanks for doing this.”

“No biggie,” she said, sliding in past me. “I’m usually here by now when I open anyway. I like to get an early start.”

Death by Coffee was quiet as I flipped on the lights. The dining area was clean, chairs pushed in beneath the tables. We didn’t put the chairs up at night like a lot of places liked to do. Maybe we should—it’d make cleaning up after closing easier—but it had never been a rule, so no one had ever done it.

“The stuff is in the back, by the sink,” I said as Beth rounded the counter.

“Got it.” She went through the back door and returned a moment later with a bag filled with everything we’d need for the red velvet latte.

Since Death by Coffee was a café at heart, the espresso machine was already set up and waiting. And since Beth had worked here for years at this point, she knew what she was doing without needing me to direct her, despite some small alterations I wanted with my wedding drink. Chocolate shavings were to be sprinkled onto the red whipped cream we were going to top the lattes with. And since we hadn’t made an actual red velvet latte in the store before, we had to figure out how much flavoring to put into it, along with the right amount of milk and espresso to get the balance right. I expected it to take longer than the twenty minutes I’d carved out during the morning routine because, quite frankly, in this, I was going to be a perfectionist.

As Beth started on the espresso, I set out the other ingredients and started prep on getting Death by Coffee open for the day. Multitasking helped take my mind off the wedding and house hunting and everything else that was barreling toward me at a high rate of speed, which included meeting my dad, James Hancock, and his girlfriend, Laura Dresden, when they arrived from their flight from California.

Stay calm, I told myself as anxiety tried to bubble up. You can get through this.

“Uh … Krissy?”

“Yeah?” I asked, popping the drawer into the register before turning to face her.

Beth was frowning at the espresso machine. She glanced over at me, saw she had my attention, and then pressed the button that was supposed to turn it on.

Nothing happened.

“Is it plugged in?” The dumb question popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. I could see the cord plugged into the wall outlet from where I was standing.

“Yep,” Beth said. “I even unplugged it and plugged it back in again. Didn’t help.”

“But …” A sudden, irrational fear gripped me then, tightening my throat. If the espresso machine didn’t work, then I’d have to get a new one. A new one would take time. Cost money. We could try to fix it, but what if that didn’t work? And then, if I couldn’t use it to make my red velvet latte, how would I serve my wedding guests? And I—

Stop it! I reprimanded myself. Vicki had a high-end coffeemaker she’d won at JavaCon years ago. It could make espresso, along with every sort of coffee imaginable. And if something had happened to it, we could skip the espresso and make the lattes with a strong coffee blend that would likely work just as well.

Of course, the key word was likely. It also might turn into a disaster that could very well ruin the perfection of my wedding day.

“It was fine last night,” Beth said. “I watched Justin make an espresso for a customer myself.”

“Wait. You worked last night?” I asked, confused. I’d checked the schedule earlier that week before asking Beth to meet me. Normally, we didn’t have anyone who closed the store, open it the next morning.

Beth flushed. “No. I stopped in to chat, see how everyone was doing.”

And by everyone, I was pretty sure she meant Justin. While Beth was an old-hat employee, Justin had only recently started working for us. A relationship between the two started brewing almost immediately.

“And the espresso machine was fine?” I asked. “It wasn’t making any strange sounds or anything?”

“Not that I noticed, no.” Beth pressed the button again. There wasn’t even a sputter or clank or any sort of sound that indicated it was at least trying to work. “Maybe someone cleaned it and put it back together wrong.”

“Maybe,” I said, a twinge of hope in my voice. “We could always try—”

My phone rang, causing us both to jump.

I checked the screen and noted it was from Ronnie Ingold. I frowned, wondering why the baker I’d hired to make my wedding cake would be calling me so early in the morning.

“Hi, Ronnie,” I said, stepping away with a raised finger to Beth. “What’s up?”

“Krissy.” Ronnie’s voice was raspy, tired. She’d been recommended to me by my neighbor, Jules Phan, and had seemed excited at the opportunity to make my cake. She worked out of her home, and didn’t have a business in the traditional sense, but had come with high marks. “I really hate to do this to you, but I don’t think I can honor our agreement.”

I went completely still as the world made a strange hum in my ears. “What do you mean you can’t honor our agreement?” I asked, monotone. “You mean the cake?”

She coughed. “I’m sorry. I just got home from the hospital or I’d have contacted you before now. I was told to go straight to bed, but I wanted to call you before I laid down.”

“You’re sick?” I asked, heart sinking. “Is it the flu?”

“No, not the flu.” But not not sick. “I feel horrible that I have to do this to you. This came out of nowhere, and I … I just can’t.”

I could hear the tears in her voice. Ronnie was in her mid-sixties, and when I’d first met her, she’d looked closer to eighty. I didn’t know if whatever illness she was suffering from was the reason she looked so aged or if that was mere genetics. I wasn’t about to ask her.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said as calmly as I could manage. There was a slight tremble to my voice, and my hands were shaking, but I thought I did a rather decent job by not falling into an instant panic. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, Krissy. I need time is all. I know there’s only two weeks until the big day, and I’d do it if I could, but—”

“Don’t worry yourself over it,” I said. “Your health comes first.”

Ronnie sucked in a breath. When she spoke this time, I knew she was crying. “Thank you, Krissy.” A muffled voice came from her end of the line. She answered with a weak, but terse, “I said no.” And then, back to me, “I’ve got to go. Thank you for understanding.”

Before I could say anything more, she was gone.

I dropped my hand, phone clutched so tightly in it, I could feel it want to give way under the pressure. I wanted to give way. Everything was suddenly going wrong, and I didn’t know what to do.

“Krissy?” Beth asked from right behind me, which might as well have been a million miles away. “Are you all right?”

I wobbled, tried to nod, but ended up shaking my head. I had two weeks until my wedding, and I had no coffee to serve, no cake. What next? No dress? No Paul? I could feel panic wanting to set in, and I tried to fight it off, but it was a losing battle.

Beth took me by the arm and led me around the counter, to one of the tables in the dining room. I eased down into a chair without thinking about it. I was taking deep, calming breaths, yet they weren’t helping. Ronnie’s call was the proverbial feather that broke the camel’s back, and boy, did I ever feel broken.

“What happened?” Beth asked.

Another breath, and I met her eye, forcing a smile. I can do this. “The baker got sick and canceled,” I said. “I have no wedding cake.”

Beth’s brow furrowed, and she glanced back toward the espresso machine, as if somehow it breaking was the reason for Ronnie cancelling on me.

“That too,” I said, barking a laugh that sounded crazed. “I’m just a smidge overwhelmed right now.”

“I can see that,” Beth said, concern etched across her features. “I’m going to get you a coffee and finish setting up for the day. You sit here, make any calls you need to. Pooky will be here in twenty minutes to help me out, so don’t worry about us, all right?”

I nodded. Pooky Cooper was a good employee, as was Beth. They often opened Death by Coffee together, so my presence wasn’t needed. I doubted I’d be much help, even if I tried.

Beth eyed me a moment longer and then went behind the counter to make the coffee she’d promised me.

Get a hold of yourself, Krissy, I reprimanded myself. People dealt with disasters all the time. I was no different. There were still two weeks until the wedding. No, that wasn’t a lot of time, but it wasn’t tomorrow either.

With a trembling hand, I called my fiancé, Paul. He was a police officer with the Pine Hills Police Department, which meant he was likely already on duty. I was afraid he might not answer, but thankfully, he did.

“Hi, Krissy,” he said, sounding chipper. “You ready to look at the house later? I have a good feeling about—”

“Paul,” I said, cutting him off. I tried to say more, but it came out as more of a grunt than anything that sounded remotely like words.

“What happened?” he asked, tone going serious. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. It’s Ronnie.” I told him about her call, and then added the bit about the espresso machine not working, because, hey, why not pile on? “I don’t know what to do!”

Paul was silent for a long moment before he said, “Everything will be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, imagining him rolling up to Ronnie’s house in his police cruiser and convincing her not just to make our cake, but to throw in the lattes as well.

“I’m going to make some calls,” he said. “I have an idea, but I want to make sure everyone’s on board before I run it by you so I don’t get your hopes up. Stand by.”

And with that, he clicked off.

I set my phone aside and rested my head on the table. It was cool and strangely calming. Paul would take care of everything. I was overreacting, was overstressed and under-rested and was making things out to be far worse than they really were.

A knock on the glass door startled me so badly, I very nearly fell out of my seat in surprise.

Rita Jablonski waved and then pointed toward the door from her place on the sidewalk outside. I rose, and despite Death by Coffee not being officially open, I let her in. Rita was my friend, one who’d been on a series of trips as of late, so I hadn’t seen her nearly as much as I used to.

“Rita!” I said as she bustled inside. “You’re back.”

“Of course I am, dear,” she said, taking a quick look around Death by Coffee, as if she expected a welcome banner. She looked tan, and it appeared she’d lost a little bit of weight. She was middle-aged, short, and her hair was veering into totally gray territory, though it suited her. “What are you doing, sleeping on the job?”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” I said, closing and then relocking the door.

Rita made a disapproving sound before sitting at the table where I’d been contemplating my life. “Whatever you were doing, it didn’t look like work.”

I sat just as Beth returned with my coffee, complete with a chocolate-chip cookie bubbling at the bottom of the cup. She hurried off without a word.

“It’s been a rough day,” I said. “When did you get back in town?”

Rita grinned. “Last night. I’ve never been to Hawaii before. It’s not what I expected.”

“In a good way?” I asked.

“A very good way.” A flush came into her cheeks, one that had me insanely curious, but I knew from experience that Rita wouldn’t talk about it. For as big of a gossip as she was, she was strangely secretive about her latest boyfriend, a man whom I’d never met, whose name I didn’t even know.

“You look rested,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. The heat washed through me and helped dispel most of my nerves. “I’m glad you had fun.”

Rita tittered, then jumped in surprise when Beth appeared and handed her a coffee. “Oh! Why, thank you, dear.”

“My pleasure.” Beth eyed me worriedly a moment more before returning behind the counter to finish setting up.

Rita took a drink and then set her coffee aside. “Something’s wrong.” She frowned at me. “As soon as I saw you, I could see it.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “Am I that easy to read?”

“I’m pretty sure anyone who’d seen you just now would say the same.” Rita’s brow furrowed as she looked me up and down. “You look healthy enough, so it’s not that. I assume it has to do with your wedding?”

“It does.”

“Of course it does, dear.” Rita nodded to herself, as if proud that she could still figure me out so easily. “I’m not surprised, to be honest. Weddings are like births. It might be new and terrifying for you, but it happens all the time.” She tsked. “You need to relax. I probably should have taken you to Hawaii with me.”

A part of me kind of wished she had, but then I’d have been even more behind schedule than I already was.

“Anyway, I wanted to stop by and let you know I was back,” Rita went on before I could think of anything to say. “I was thinking it might be a good idea for us to get together. Maybe a whole bunch of us, even. I miss spending time with the writers’ group. We could have an impromptu meeting later today if you can make it?”

I hadn’t been to the Pine Hills writers’ group in a long time, mostly because I wasn’t a writer; that honor belonged to my dad. But I used to go since I liked a lot of the people who were a part of it. Heck, thinking back, it was at a group meeting where Paul’s mom, Patricia, had given me his number and told me to contact him for a date.

“That would be nice,” I said. “But I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it.”

“Why not?” Rita asked, lower lip pouted out. “I’m sure you could make a little time for us.”

“Paul and I are looking at houses later,” I said. “And with the wedding coming up, I’ve got a ton of stuff to do—including finding someone new to make my wedding cake.”

Rita’s eyes widened. “You haven’t gotten anyone to make your cake?” She shook her head as she stood. “Well, I should let you get to it, then. If you change your mind, just give me a ring.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. “I’m glad you’re back, Rita.”

“Me too, dear. Me too.” She headed for the door, but paused before stepping outside. “If I’d known you’d wait so long to find yourself a baker, I wouldn’t have left when I did. I swear, the whole town falls apart whenever I’m not around to hold it together.”

And with that, she walked out of Death by Coffee, leaving me standing there, wondering if she might very well be right.

I pulled up in front of the Pine Hills Church later that day, not quite sure why I was there. Sitting two blocks down the street from Death by Coffee, the church was one of those ancient monstrosities that could hold an entire town’s worth of people inside it in the case of Armageddon. It was the only church in town as far as I was aware, and didn’t cater to any one denomination, which I appreciated.

Paul’s car was parked in the lot, alongside a half-dozen other vehicles, none of which I recognized. I pulled in next to him and got out. He’d called just as I was about to leave Death by Coffee, having given up on fixing the espresso machine. He’d asked me to meet him, but had given me no explanation as to why, outside of it being a surprise.

I eyed the ruby-red brick, the large, stained-glass windows, but they gave me no hint as to what was waiting for me. I’d been inside countless times, for meetings and events and everything in between. About the only thing I hadn’t come to the church for since arriving in Pine Hills was worship, and no one had ever held that against me, at least not to my face.

Above me, the sky churned, grumbling its displeasure. While the sun was still technically shining, a gloom was settling over Pine Hills that had me hurrying toward the doors before the coming rain could start. Long gone was the pleasant morning, which, considering how my day had been going, wasn’t much of a surprise.

The well-maintained exterior gave way to the innards of the old church, which exposed it for the elderly building it truly was. The wooden floor groaned and creaked as I headed for a set of stairs painted with Bible verses that complained just as loudly as the floor as I headed to the room where most meetings took place—and where Paul had asked me to meet him.

“You might as well leave. No one wants you here.”

I jerked to a halt halfway up the stairs, thinking the comment was intended for me. The deep, resonant male voice was vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t place it.

“Really?” came the response. Once again, I recognized this man’s voice, albeit barely. “I have as much of a right to be here as you, Lars. We were both invited and—”

“Oh, come off it, Max. There’s no competition here. Have you seen your online reviews as of late? My place blows yours out of the water.”

“Right. I know you pay for your reviews. They’re all written like AI slop, and everyone knows it.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

I didn’t have to be in the room to know that Lars Calhoon was squaring his shoulders in an attempt to look more intimidating. Now that I’d heard their names, I could place their voices, and I knew why Paul had asked me to meet him.

Lars Calhoon and Max Race were both local bakers who’d been in the consideration for baking and decorating my wedding cake. Paul and I had obviously chosen Ronnie Ingold, but now that she was too sick to do it, they were, apparently, back in the running.

“Lars, Max,” Paul said, sounding as if the argument had been going on for a while now. “There’s no reason for you to fight.”

I hurried up the last couple of stairs and entered the space to find the two bakers standing across the room from one another, rather than toe to toe. Next to them, they each had a female employee, likely come to assist with the presentation. Paul was standing between a pair of tables, hands held out placatingly, as he tried to manage the volatile situation.

“I’m here,” I said, announcing myself. “Sorry it took so long.”

Paul sagged in relief and then rushed over to me and kissed my cheek. “Surprise,” he said, gesturing toward the bakers, while keeping his voice low. He was. . .