Halloween Cupcake Murder

by Carlene O'Connor, Liz Ireland, Carol J. Perry

Genres: Mystery Anthologies & Collections; Female Sleuths; Anthologies

Synopsis

A trio of sweet-toothed Halloween cozy mystery tales by nationally bestselling authors.

HALLOWEEN CUPCAKE MURDER by CARLENE O'CONNOR
With Galway’s Halloween Mystery Tour only a few days away, Tara Meehan is scouring the town’s curiosity shops for spooky decorations to draw tourists into her architectural salvage store. But when a stranger appears in her shop bearing a cryptic cupcake and an ominous message, Tara suddenly finds herself tangled in a mystery with ancient Gaelic roots, but very modern—and very deadly—consequences . . .
 
MRS. CLAUS AND THE CANDY CORN CAPER by LIZ IRELAND
Christmastown is pulling out all the stops for their Halloween celebration, planning a huge carnival with rides, games, and a candy corn-themed bake-off! But the sweet theme stokes the bitterest of rivalries amongst the elves, until tragedy strikes at Santaland’s newest bakery. The only clue is a cupcake, leaving Mrs. Claus to sort through tricks and treats as she races to unmask a Halloween fiend . . .
 
A TRIPLE LAYER HALLOWEEN MURDER by CAROL J. PERRY
Every October, Salem plunges into a month-long celebration of Halloween and WICH-TV’s Lee Barrett can’t wait to cover the festivities. But rumors swirl after a wealthy bakery owner goes missing—and his beloved cat, Cupcake, is found—under mysterious circumstances. Now, amid Salem’s wicked revelry, Lee must conjure clues to reveal the missing millionaire . . . or the truth about his disappearance . . .

Release date: August 22, 2023

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Reader says this book is...: entertaining story (1)

Sample

Tara Meehan strolled down Galway’s lively pedestrian street, eager for a morning of Halloween shopping. The air was crisp, and the smell of bacon, yeast, and wood-burning fires filled the air. Tara had that “back to school” feeling. The rain was holding off and the sun was flirting from behind a fluffy cloud. Nearby trees sported orange, red, and yellow leaves. Fall was her favorite season both stateside and here. Her mission was a fun one—purchase anything spooky she could use to either decorate or sell at Renewals, her architectural salvage shop. She had a sense of panic that everyone else was well ahead of her. Pubs had broken out the orange lights and grinning skulls, shop windows featured costumes—apparently sexy nurses and cowboys never went out of style—and even the coffee shops were luring customers in with their Witches’ Brew Tea and cinnamon-dusted pumpkin lattes.

Tara had wrongly assumed that Halloween was more of an American thing. But Galway was all-in. Coming up was the big Macnas Halloween parade, the largest free event in Galway, featuring giant creatures, and sculptures, and pyrotechnics, not to mention bespoke costumes both in the parade and among the large and rowdy crowds.

Tara was determined to get into the spirit of things and entice a few tourists into her shop. She was promised the parade would be strange, unpredictable, and utterly mesmerizing. She wanted her shop to be nothing less. Uncle Johnny had recently mentioned that a curiosity shop in town had a recent shipment in, and he’d arranged an invitation for Tara to check it out before the word got out. Being an owner of a shop that sold architectural salvage items in Galway had its perks, priority shopping being one of them.

The little curiosity shop was a few streets away, nestled close to Tara’s favorite medieval church. One had to be paying attention to notice it: a wooden sign carved into the shape of a shark with VAL written across it. The glowing eyes of a plastic black cat beckoned from the window. Just mounting the few steps up to the main door gave Tara a thrill. She opened the heavy wooden door and ascended a long flight of stairs. A single door greeted her at the top. The number 13 hung on the door, made of iron and hanging from two rusty nails. This had to be the right place. Tara turned the knob and the door creaked open. She stepped in and the floorboards groaned underneath her, accompanied by the mechanical sounds of a cat yowling.

For a brief moment she wondered if she had accidentally stepped into someone else’s private flat. The room was lit only by a single lamp in the corner; she made out an armchair, a sofa, and a coffee table. An old man sat in the chair in the corner. “Welcome, Tara,” he said. “I’m afraid me old bones won’t allow me to rise quickly.”

“No need,” Tara said. “Given you know my name, I must be in the right place.”

“Are you the curious sort?”

What a funny question. Then again, it was a curiosity shop. “I am.”

“Then you’re in the right place.” He reached up and flipped a switch. With the additional illumination, Tara could see the walls were jammed with shelves and the shelves were jammed with items. In the corner opposite the old man stood a giant grizzly bear, its paws outstretched and its mouth open, flashing large teeth. It couldn’t be real, but even its eyes seemed enraged and alive.

“I won her in a poker game,” the old man said, gesturing to the bear. “Named her Flora. Isn’t she a beaut?”

“I think she’s in the right place,” Tara said with a laugh. She nearly thought she could hear the bear breathing. “Although I can’t help feeling sorry for her.”

“She’s better off with me than the man she was with. He gave me her and a few fish to boot.” He grinned. “There’s a man after her but I don’t like third wheels.”

Tara wasn’t going to ask any follow-up questions; she had a feeling that if she did, she would be here all day, and she really needed to start treasure hunting. “I own a little shop in Galway—Renewals,” Tara said. “I deal in architectural salvage.”

“I know all about you,” Val said. “Your Uncle Johnny is always waxing on about his American niece.”

“Good old Uncle Johnny,” Tara said with a laugh. Moving here from New York City and setting up shop would have been impossible without Uncle Johnny’s connections. In Manhattan Tara had been a sought-after interior designer. And although she still advised clients once in a while, she loved running a shop even more.

“Val Sharkey,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She meant it. She felt an instant kinship with fellow shop owners.

“You’ll have to forgive me for not paying a visit to your shop though,” Val said. “I don’t go outside me door much.”

“It looks like you have plenty in here to keep you going,” Tara said brightly.

“You’d be surprised,” Val said. “The older I get, the less all these things mean to me.”

“I can see that too.” She wondered if she’d still be manning a shop when she was older. Given she’d only been at it a few years, and still loved it, she had no clue how long it would take for burnout to set in. The thought that the answer could be never was delightful.

“What exactly are you looking for?” he asked. “I might be able to help.”

“I’m looking for Halloween items.”

He grinned. “Pumpkins and skeletons and whatnot?”

“Mmmm. Perhaps. But I tend to skew a bit more . . . original?”

“Eyeballs and livers in jars?

She laughed. “A bit less macabre.”

He glanced at the grizzly bear. “But smaller than Flora?”

She laughed. “Yes, much smaller than Flora.”

“You wouldn’t want her, anyway,” he said. “She eats too many fish.”

Tara laughed. “I can believe it.”

“Do you believe in curses?” he said, his tone suddenly dropping to a lower octave. She waited to see if he would follow it with a smile, or even a raise of an eyebrow. His gaze remained steady.

“No,” she said. “I don’t believe I do.”

“Brilliant!” he said. And this time he did smile. “In that case I have just the thing.” He heaved himself from his chair with a groan, then grabbed a nearby cane and hobbled over to the counter. “There’s a gentleman who was supposed to pick it up—I’ve been saving it for him—but he’s three days late. Given he didn’t pay me a pence for it, I’d say it’s yours now.”

“I’ll take a look,” Tara said. He reached the counter, slipped behind it, and ducked down. When he stood back up, he was holding a black slate, like a small chalkboard, only this one was in an oval shape with jagged edges. Tara inched forward as he set it on the counter. A vibrant painting covered the surface, featuring a grand temple, and people in colorful robes making their way toward it. The robes were in almost every color of the rainbow: red, yellow, blue, green, pink. Only the backs of the people were shown, all drawn to the temple, their heads bowed, their robes billowing out behind them. In the background was a hillside, and then a cave. Above the entrance to the cave it read: CAVE OF THE CATS. It certainly was unique. She loved it.

“Do you know what it means?” she asked.

“Why, it’s a painting of the first Halloween,” he said, with a gleam in his eye. “This is a rendering of the first Samhain Festival.”

“The Samhain Festival.” Tara knew a little bit about the Gaelic word Samhain, pronounced Sah-win, and the ancient Celtic tradition that rang in the harvest and welcomed in “the dark half of the year.”

“One of my customers was very excited about it,” Val said. “This customer offered me five hundred euro.”

Tara backed away. “Oh,” she said. “That’s much more than I want to pay for it.”

“Two hundred and fifty euro and it’s yours,” he said.

Even that was more than she had planned to spend. Then again, there was something compelling about it. It looked old, but the paint was still vibrant. She could see it attracting attention in her store, and if someone wanted it bad enough, perhaps she could get five hundred euro for it. It was possible Val Sharkey was playing her for a fool. Trick or treat.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for the other offer?” On the other hand, maybe he was telling the truth, and in that case she didn’t want to take advantage of an elderly man.

“I wouldn’t sell it to ’em now if they offered me a thousand euro!”

Tara gazed at the painting. She had never seen anything like it. “Consider it sold.”

He grinned, flashing a mouth with few teeth. “Have another go around the place as I wrap it up for ya.”

Tara found a few orange candles with ornate holders, and a small ceramic black cat with green eyes. She added it to the pile and set down her credit card. On the counter was a set of pumpkin-carving knives with plastic pumpkins stuck on the end like erasers on a pencil. Val noticed her studying them. “Do you need a set? The box was ruined, so I can give it to you for ten percent off.” She nearly laughed. Only ten percent when there was no box. It was hard to imagine someone carrying a fistful of knives down the street. And near Halloween no less. That could cause a stir. Edward Scissorhands: The Halloween Edition . . .

He picked one up. The sharp blade gleamed in the light. “How about it?”

She shook her head. “Knowing me, I’d accidentally stab myself on the way home. I’m good, thanks.”

“Not a bother.” He wrapped her things in festive orange and black tissue paper, then held up a finger and ducked down once more. When he was upright again, he held up a promotional postcard: Galway Bakes. Grand Opening. Free cupcake! “Don’t tell me you’re one of those who don’t eat sugar,” he said, eyeing her slim figure.

“I do when it’s free,” she said, plucking the card out of his hand. She had actually been thinking about getting cupcakes for the store for Halloween. What synchronicity! She’d be able to taste the goods before deciding.

“Let me explain what you need to do.” He suddenly sounded very serious.

“Okay.”

“You need to write an e-mail to this address here.” He tapped the e-mail address on the bottom of the flier. GalwayBakesFreeCupcake.com.

“Got it.”

“I’m not done.”

“Okay.”

“In the subject of the e-mail you put Cupcake Winner.” He stared at her until she nodded. “And then in the body of the e-mail you put the number on this postcard.” He tapped a number in the corner.

“Lucky number thirteen,” she said. “Like the number of your shop.”

“Right you are,” he said. “You are very observant. That’s a quality I admire.” He leaned in. “This is the last free cupcake.”

“I’m a lucky girl.”

He nodded. “Put thirteen and your address in the body of the e-mail. Soon, someone will deliver your free cupcake.”

“Great.”

“Why don’t we do it now?” he said. Before she could insist that she would do it, he was already logging on to the computer on the counter and asking for her address. She gave him the address of the shop. “You won’t be needing this now.” After he ripped up the flier and tossed it in his bin, he grinned at her. “And good luck.”

“I suppose any day you get a free cupcake is lucky.”

“Do you know the best way to get rid of snakes?” Val asked.

The non sequitur threw her. She had no idea where he was going with this. “Ask Saint Patrick to drive them out?”

Val threw back his head and laughed. “That,” he said. “Or make them chase their own tails.” Tara had a feeling there was a long story behind that comment as well, but she really did have to be on her way. “Happy Halloween,” he said as he took her credit card. “Wonder which one of us got the trick and which the treat?”

Perhaps, Tara thought on her way back down the narrow stairs with the bag of goodies in her hand, she’d just been played. What did it matter? At least the money was going to a local shop. And she loved the painting. Just as she reached the main door, it swung open and a figure dressed in a black hooded robe and a green face mask towered in the doorway. Although it could be either a man or a woman, Tara guessed the person to be a man. “You startled me,” Tara said. The figure did not answer. Instead, he or she lifted the box. A sticker sealed it shut: Galway Bakes. It looked like Mr. Sharkey was getting a free cupcake as well.

“I’m looking forward to my cupcake next,” she said. The figure stared at her a moment, dark eyes peering out from behind the mask, then quickly stepped to the side, holding the door open. “Thank you,” she said as she stepped through. The figure did not reply, but he or she did wait until Tara was on the footpath before the front door slammed shut.

“Okay,” Tara said out loud. What a disadvantage, not being able to see someone’s facial expressions. Was he or she simply very into his or her role as a . . . what was that costume supposed to be anyway? Perhaps he or she was some poor bakery clerk forced to dress up and deliver Halloween cupcakes. If there was any holiday when you were allowed to be enraged, Tara supposed it might as well be Halloween. Still, she’d be fine with never running into him or her again in her life. Hopefully some chipper employee dressed as a fairy would deliver her cupcake.

It was such a gorgeous day Tara decided to have a walk about before returning to her shop. She headed down the street, inhaling the smell of the bay and a fire that burned nearby, wishing she could bottle this perfect fall day. She soon ducked into a coffee shop. It was decked out for Halloween, with cobwebs and flickering candles in the window, small pumpkins on tables, and a pastry case filled with sugar cookies in the shapes of witches, cats, pumpkins, and ghosts. Once laden with a nice caramel and apple latte, she headed out again, then continued a leisurely walk to the end of the street before looping back around. It was close to an hour later when she found herself passing by Val Sharkey’s shop once again. At that moment, her phone rang, and she stopped on the footpath to dig through her handbag. Just as she found her phone, a loud crash sounded from above.

Before she could even mount the steps to Val’s shop, someone was barreling down them. Driven more by instinct than logic, Tara ran to the narrow alley between the shop and the building next door and flattened herself against it. Seconds later, the door flew open, hitting the side of the building with a clang. She didn’t dare poke her head out to look, but next thing she knew the cloaked man with the mask stood on the footpath in front of her. He began to pace, his cape sweeping the footpath. He looked like the Grim Reaper on the prowl. His back was to her, but all he had to do to spot her would be to turn around. He looked right, then left, then right again. Was Mr. Sharkey okay? Fear kept Tara plastered to the side of the building. He stood for what felt like forever before hurrying down the street and disappearing around a corner. Heart hammering in her chest, Tara counted to thirty before exiting her hiding place and hurrying back into the shop.

Tara was breathing hard when she flung open the door to the curiosity shop. Utter chaos greeted her. Someone had knocked absolutely every single shelf to the ground. Books and knickknacks cluttered the floor along with framed prints off the wall. Even a spider plant was facedown, bleeding dirt. Who would do such a thing? “Mr. Sharkey?” Tara called out. Flora was no longer dominating the corner, and it took a few seconds before Tara located the giant grizzly facedown on the floor. She took a few steps toward the counter. That’s when she saw a pair of black shoes sticking out.

Mr. Sharkey?” She hurried toward him. Val Sharkey lay faceup behind the counter, eyes open and unblinking. His mouth was covered in something black and orange—and it wasn’t until she saw what was in his hand that she understood what she was looking at. A giant Halloween cupcake was crumbled in his outstretched hand—the top of the cupcake had been ingested—the remainder of it smeared across Val’s mouth. Crumbs were scattered all over poor Mr. Sharkey. Tara knelt beside him and, with a trembling hand, tried to feel for a pulse. Zero. Tara was out of her depth, but she was pretty sure he was dead. She felt his wrist. Then his neck. No pulse. His eyes were open and staring. White foam pooled from his lips. Had he been poisoned? She dialed 999, her hands trembling. When the operator answered, the story came out of her in a rush.

“I have emergency services on the way,” the operator said. “Make sure you’re somewhere safe.”

“Detective Sergeant Howard,” the tall man standing in front of her said. They stood in the stairwell where Tara had been waiting for them to arrive. He was much younger than she’d imagined a detective sergeant would be; she was used to dealing with Detective Sergeant Gable. Detective Sergeant Howard stood over six feet tall with a head full of wavy black hair and piercing blue eyes. She nearly asked him if he was just dressed up as a detective for Halloween—or was he about to show up at someone’s hen party twirling a pair of handcuffs? She suddenly realized he was staring at her, and then she realized she hadn’t introduced herself.

“I’m sorry, my mind is racing. I’m Tara Meehan. I own Renewals—a shop in town. I was just here about an hour ago for some Halloween decorations. After I made a purchase”—she held up her bag with the slate painting and other tidbits—“I had a walk-about, then was passing by about an hour later when I heard a terrible crash.” She filled him in on the mysterious masked man.

“Let’s step back inside,” Howard said. “If you think you can?”

“Of course.”

They headed back into the shop and stepped over debris until they reached the counter. The detective gestured to the body. “You found him like this?”

“Yes. No. Yes.”

“Which is it?”

“The first time I found him in his rocking chair, very much alive.” She swallowed hard, understanding that with every word of the truth she spoke, she would become this handsome detective’s number one suspect. Except she had no reason at all to murder Val Sharkey, and she wasn’t going to psyche herself out and start stammering and make herself even more of a target. She went through her entire story, trying not to leave out any details. She half expected him to take the slate painting when she told him about it and the customer that Sharkey claimed would have paid five hundred euro for it.

“It sounds like he was a good salesman,” Howard said, with a shake of his head. “Cave of the Cats.” It was obvious he thought it was all nonsense. “Halloween. A night where my officers have to be on alert because of people stirring up trouble and scaring themselves silly.”

Tara nearly blurted out that he didn’t look old enough to attend a Halloween party let alone break one up. “I’m sure it’s a crazy night.”

He nodded. “Even worse when folks dress up like the Gardaí. It’s hard to know the good guys from the bad on Halloween.”

Tara was finding it hard to know the good guys from the bad on any given day. “Totally,” she said.

“How long was this walk of yours?” the detective asked.

“No more than an hour,” Tara said. “And from the looks of the shop, the masked figure spent quite a bit of time tearing the place apart. Do you know any poisons that kill that fast?”

“I’m going to leave all that to the state pathologist,” the detective said. As he spoke, Tara’s eyes landed on the counter. It had been wiped clean. She tracked the floor around it, but didn’t see what she was looking for.

“There were six pumpkin-carving knives on the counter when I left.”

“Knives?” He raised an eyebrow.

She nodded. “An entire set. Without the box. Did one of your guards touch them?”

“No.” He turned a page in his notebook as guards worked around them, gathering evidence, photographing the scene. “How many knives were there?”

“At least six. They all had plastic pumpkins on them—they were jagged. . . .”

“Are you saying our killer poisoned this man with a cupcake, but on his way out he nicked six pumpkin-carving knives?”

“I’m saying when I left there were pumpkin-carving knives on the counter. Now there are none.”

“It seems he could have just stabbed him and be done with it.”

“It almost looks as if someone . . . forced the cupcake into his mouth,” Tara said. Had this killer held one of the pumpkin knives against Val’s throat to make him eat it? Perhaps he or she took the knives so that they couldn’t lift any fingerprints.

“What’s the best description you can give me of the person you passed on the stairwell?”

“The person was taller than me and his or her eyes looked dark in the stairwell—but he—and I think it was a man although I couldn’t really tell—he was wearing a hooded cloak and a full green face mask.”

“And this mystery man in a green face mask carried a cupcake?”

“He carried a white pastry box that had a sticker that read Galway Bakes.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a woman, dressed as an old witch, carrying a poisoned apple?”

“I would laugh at your joke, Detective, but I can’t because a man has just been murdered.”

He nodded. “Apologies . . . This is my first case where the so-called suspect was a masked man in a hooded cloak.”

Tara nodded. “Perhaps it’s easier to get away with murder at Halloween.”

“Detective Howard?” A guard stood nearby wanting to speak with him. The detective excused himself for a moment. Tara hoped she could go soon; she felt a clawing need to get out of here.

Detective Sergeant Howard returned, his face somber. “You’re sure the name of the bakery was Galway Bakes?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well,” he said. “That’s very odd.”

“What?”

“There’s no pastry box here, there’s no flier here, and there’s no bakery in Galway under that name.”

Tara pointed at the rubbish bin. “He ripped it up and threw it into the bin.”

The detective walked over and peered into it. “Empty.” He turned to stare at her.

“The killer must have taken it.”

The detective frowned. “Why would he do that?”

Tara shrugged. “You can see the cupcake for yourself,” she said. “It had to come from somewhere.”

“Do you bake?”

“Me?” What was he accusing her of? “Not lately.”

“You didn’t bring Mr. Sharkey a cupcake, get in an argument—perhaps he was bullying you into a purchase, or perhaps he overcharged you?”

“Let me get this straight. You think I decided to whip up a batch of poisoned cupcakes just in case a defenseless old man might overcharge me? That would make me both psychotic and psychic.”

There went that eyebrow again, shooting up. “Are you?”

“No. I am neither.”

“You’re free to go. But we will be speaking with you again. Don’t leave town.”

She had questions that she’d planned on asking him. Did Val Sharkey have any known enemies? Would they get CCTV footage from nearby? And why would the killer take the flier and the cupcake box? He or she had no problem leaving the icing and the crumbs.... She could feel Detective Sergeant Howard’s eyes on her even as she left the building. She reached the footpath, and against her better judgment turned and looked up at the window. Detective Sergeant Howard was gazing out, watching her. She turned and walked away, making sure not to turn around again, knowing if she did, she would see his eyes were still trailing her. Did he really think she was a killer?

He’s just doing his job. You were one of the last people to see the victim. His job would be so easy if she was the guilty party. Case closed. He would be the hero detective. She waited until she was out of sight to pull her mobile phone out and google Galway Bakes. He was right. There was no such bakery. She had seen the name twice. On the flier and on the cupcake box. If Galway Bakes didn’t exist, what was that business about signing her up for a free cupcake? She then googled poison that kills quickly. . . . As she sifted through she saw one possible culprit: cyanide. A rapid-acting, potentially deadly chemical that comes in many forms....

She would go back to her shop and try to get her mind off poor Mr. Sharkey. One way to do that would be to see what information she could glean about the mysterious slate painting. Her Uncle Johnny, who owned an architectural salvage mill, would. . .