Murder at First Slice

Book 5: Baker Street Mystery

by Valerie Burns

Genres: Mystery; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Social media queen-turned-small-town baker Maddy Montgomery, her feisty friends, and her faithful English mastiff know you have to break a few eggs to solve a murder. . .

As Maddy’s wedding day approaches, friends and family descend on the little town of New Bison, Michigan, to celebrate—so much so that Maddy wonders if there might be another happily-ever-after in store for her widowed father and innkeeper Mrs. Law. Unfortunately, she also has to deal with an unhappy couple: feuding cousins Hannah and Dorothy, who haven’t spoken in decades. Maddy can only hope the spectacular wedding cake crafted by her head baker doesn’t wind up as ammunition in a food fight.

But she doesn’t have to wait long for a wedding disaster to strike. When the imperious Dorothy crashes the rehearsal dinner—with several uninvited guests in tow—and starts battering everyone with constant complaints, the drama reaches reality-show levels. And the next day, Dorothy is dead . . . with Hannah standing over the body, bloody rolling pin in hand.

Nobody in town believes Miss Hannah could commit murder. But a detective newly relocated from New York doesn’t know the sweet, memory-challenged Hannah the way the locals do—and the evidence seems open-and-shut as an oven. Now, with her sous-sleuths the Baker Street Irregulars, the bride-to-be is busy digging into Dorothy’s past to catch a killer before she cuts the cake . . .

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 256

Sample

Who let the dogs out?

I had just taken a sip of tea when I was jolted by the thumping beat as the Baha Men barked Who to the question. The bass vibrated through the air, shattering the peaceful atmosphere and rattling the dinnerware in the tent set up on the lawn of the Carson Law Inn. Once the family home of New Bison’s only tycoon, Beauregard Law, the Carson Law Inn had been converted into an upscale hotel by Beauregard’s daughter and my friend, Carson Law. My friendship with Carson was how I was able to snag the popular venue for my wedding reception and a bridal luncheon one week before my upcoming nuptials.

A white tent to the east of the inn was artfully filled with tables laden with tea, sandwiches, pastries, and scones. The stately mansion was massive, with manicured lawns and beautiful gardens that provided the perfect backdrop for the informal gathering where Michael and I could acknowledge our bridal party. The official family dinner would be tomorrow. Even though the tent was outdoors and somewhat informal, the music was still a shock.

I gazed around for the source of the auditory intrusion. I spewed my tea as my two-hundred-fifty-pound English mastiff, Baby, strutted across the lawn wearing a bow tie, top hat, and tails. He wiggled his butt and pranced around the crowd as drool dripped from his mouth. If a dog could smile, Baby was smiling. When it came to attention, he was no shrinking violet and loved the spotlight. When my great-aunt Octavia was alive, Baby had been her dog. She found him as a pup. She raised him. Trained him. And showed him in conformation events, earning him the title of Champion Crooner Ol’ Blue Eyes, One for My Baby. Great-Aunt Octavia really loved Frank Sinatra. Now Baby was mine, and I loved the big drooly ham.

The small crowd gathered under the tent oohed and aahed, and Baby soaked up the attention.

After Baby’s entrance, his best buddy Daisy came out wearing a white veil and wedding gown. Daisy was also an English mastiff but female, so she was a demure one hundred sixty pounds.

The mastiffs paused for photos, then wolfed down the doggy wedding cake with what I hoped was an edible mastiff topper, since they ate it. Seeing the dogs with their muzzles covered in icing was adorable.

I pulled out my phone and uploaded pictures. #ThisWeddingIsGoingToTheDogs #BestDressedMastiff #FirstComesLove ThenComesMarriage

I wasn’t the only one snapping photos, and Baby’s social media account was blowing up with likes and comments. I should be jealous that my dog had more followers than I did, but he was more photogenic.

“I should have known April and Candy had something up their sleeves,” I whispered to my fiancé, Michael Portman.

Michael was ruggedly handsome with dark skin, light gray eyes, and a five-o’clock shadow.

April Johnson was not only the sheriff of New Bison, Michigan, she was also my tenant and best friend. Candy Hurston Rivers was the daughter of my next-door neighbor, Alma Hurston. Candy’s late husband, Paul Rivers, had been the mayor and owner of a hardware store next to my bakery, Baby Cakes. After Mayor Rivers died, Candy converted the hardware store into Higher Grounds, a gourmet coffee shop. My coffee addiction and Candy’s love of mastiffs had created a close friendship and bond.

Finished with his cake, Baby pranced over to his second favorite human, Michael, stood on his hind legs, and gave his face a slobbery kiss.

“Hey, big boy. Did you beat me to the altar?”

I found the wipes I kept close at hand ever since I’d inherited Baby from my great-aunt. Mastiffs were big dogs, and Baby drooled like a faucet. Hard to believe that less than a year ago, I could never have imagined myself owning a dog, let alone a massive breed that dripped saliva like spaghetti. But one look into those soulful eyes, and I was putty in his paws. I looked at my favorite males and snapped another picture. #My Heart #My2Guys #LoveThese2

Candy rushed over and wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “I saw the wedding dress online, and I couldn’t resist. Wasn’t Daisy adorable?”

“Daisy was adorable.” I smiled at my friend.

“I know I spoil her, but she is just the bestest doggie ever.” Candy grinned indulgently at Daisy. “Of course, Baby is the handsomest dog ever,” she quickly added. “The two of them are great and would make amazing mastiff babies.”

Baby was a champion show dog and got top-dollar stud fees, which paid for his expensive homemade dog food and expensive liver treats. Daisy had a heart condition that made it unwise for her to have puppies. Still, Candy loved the idea of Baby and Daisy as parents.

“It’s a perfect day for a party.” April sidled up next to me. “Thank you for the beautiful jewelry. I love the pearl earrings.”

Candy leaned close. “They’re real, aren’t they?”

I nodded.

“I’ve never had real pearls before.” Candy fingered the pearl stud earrings and the matching necklace.

April’s eyes were misty. At nearly six feet tall, with gray eyes and dark wavy hair, April was stunning. But she was no weakling. She was tough as nails with a big heart. Although New Bison’s criminals never got to see that side of her.

“Don’t forget we have your bachelorette party later tonight.” Candy wiggled her hips.

“Bachelorette party? Should I be worried?” Michael asked.

I smiled. “What’s to worry about? I’ll be with the sheriff.”

“If you love me, you’ll kill me now.” I laid my cheek on the table.

Michael snorted. After a brief chuckle, he rubbed my back. “Aww, Squid, that must have been one heck of a bachelorette party. Exactly how much did you drink?”

I didn’t have the energy to reprimand him for calling me Squid. “I only had one drink.” Maybe it was two or three.

“Seriously? You’re this hungover after only one drink?” Michael scoffed. “I always thought the Navy was soft. This just confirms it.”

He was a vet in every sense of the word—not only a veteran from the Army, he was also a veterinarian. I’d never been in the military, but my dad, Jefferson Augustus Montgomery, was an admiral in the Navy, which was why everyone—including me—referred to him as “the Admiral.” The various military branches shared a brotherly, albeit competitive, camaraderie with plenty of friendly trash-talking and name-calling. “Squid” was Michael’s favorite term of endearment for me. I didn’t mind it, but I couldn’t let him off the hook too easily, even when I was seconds away from death.

“One … five. I don’t know.”

Michael laughed.

“I hope Baby drools on your toothbrush.”

Hearing his name, Baby rose from the dog bed I kept in the corner of the bakery and lumbered over to the table. He then licked and drooled all over my face and neck.

“Eww,” I said.

Michael laughed for a few seconds, then finally took pity on me and put an end to the doggy tongue bath by ordering Baby to stand down. He’d been teaching Baby to respond to military commands in his spare time.

Baby sat on his haunches, and waited for his reward while drool flowed freely.

Michael took the towel I always kept handy to clean up the drool that leaked from my dog’s jowls like a faucet. Then he placed two ibuprofens in my hand and passed me a glass of water.

I forced down the pills and water and waited for death.

Michael gently lifted me onto his lap and pressed my head against his chest.

I rubbed my cheek against the soft cotton that felt like silk. “Is this a new shirt?”

“Hmm. My fiancée bought it for me.” Michael kissed my forehead.

“She must have good taste.” I patted his chest. “It’s really soft.”

Michael chuckled. “She does have good taste. She picked me.”

“You shouldn’t get too close to me.” I tried to lift my head, but it weighed a couple hundred pounds and wouldn’t budge. “My head is going to explode, and when it does, I don’t want to ruin your shirt.”

Michael held me tighter. “It’s okay. I can get another shirt.”

I snuggled closer, like a cat.

The bell that tinkled whenever someone entered Baby Cakes Bakery sounded. I’d once thought the sound adorable. Now it clanged like the stock market closing bell at the end of the trading day.

I squinted. “Ouch.” Candy skipped into the bakery. She literally skipped.

She halted a couple of feet from me, squatted down, and stared at my face. “You look awful.”

“Thank you. I was afraid I didn’t look quite as bad as I feel.” I took a deep breath, mustered up my energy, and stuck out my tongue. “How are you so perky? You drank more than I did last night. And would you please stop shouting.”

She waved a cup in front of my nose. The aroma of rich Colombian coffee beans wafted up to my nose. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Is that what I think it is?” I forced my head up. “Is that a Dead Eye I smell?”

Michael frowned. “What on earth is a Dead Eye?”

“Yep. This is a Red Eye with a triple shot of espresso, otherwise known as a Dead Eye,” Candy said.

“That much caffeine can’t be good for you.” Michael shook his head and reached for my cup.

I swatted away his hand and reached for the elixir of life, but before I could grab it, Candy pulled it away.

“Not so fast, my caffeine-addicted friend. This first.” She thrust another cup into my hand.

“What is it?” I sniffed at its contents and swallowed hard to avoid puking.

“That is my one hundred percent surefire cure for hangovers.” She grinned. “I learned it from a bartender when I worked at the casino. This is the reason I can be perky while you look like something from The Walking Dead.”

I frowned and shoved the cup back toward her. “I’d rather you just shot me.”

Candy was small with big eyes and big hair. She was never in the military, but you wouldn’t have known it by her stance and the iron in her voice. “Listen here. If you want this Dead Eye, then you have to take your medicine like a good little soldier … um… sailor … forget it. Just drink it.” She thrust the cup into my hand. “I promise it doesn’t taste as bad as it smells. Just knock it back like a tequila shot, and you’ll be right as rain. Then I’ll give you the Dead Eye.” She waved the caffeine in front of my nose.

I scowled, but the ringing in my head overwhelmed me. After glaring for several beats, I took the cup and tossed it back. For several seconds, it felt like I’d swallowed dry ice, and I shivered. Then my throat was on fire. I looked around for something to put out the flames.

Candy thrust the coffee into my hand, and I downed it like I’d just come out of three weeks in a desert.

Michael, Candy, and Baby stared at me.

Within seconds, my head stopped throbbing. My alcohol-induced brain fog lifted, and my tongue reduced back to its normal size and no longer felt like it was covered in cotton and stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“Holy cow.” I stared at Candy as the symptoms subsided. “What’s in that stuff?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” She skipped over to Baby and jiggled his jowls. “Who’s a good boy?” Her annoying baby-talk voice might have caused violence a moment ago, but she was safe now.

“Seriously, that worked?” Michael asked.

I didn’t feel euphoric, but I felt human, which was a huge improvement. I would take it.

Candy stopped her love fest with Baby, stood, and turned back to us. “Ye of little faith. Why the surprise?”

Michael frowned. “I’ve never seen anything work that fast. Maybe you should bottle it.”

Candy smiled. “I was sworn to secrecy, or I might consider it.” She turned to me. “Are you both ready to meet the family?”

When I initially met Candy, I thought she wasn’t very bright. However, the more I got to know her, the more I realized that she was an intelligent woman, a savvy businesswoman, and an excellent barista. She was also proving to be a great organizer as she helped with the wedding. I started to tell her how much I appreciated her when the door opened again, and a very pregnant, very unhappy Lucy Lewis waddled in with April fast behind her.

“I ordered naval blue tablecloths with white toppers. Not royal blue tablecloths with off-white toppers. With American gold fabric ties. These ties are not American gold. They are sunflower yellow. This is completely unacceptable!” Lucy yelled into her phone. She was a petite, mousy woman with mousy brown hair and eyes. When she had been the assistant to the larger-than-life wedding planner, Serafina, she’d been a mouse. Without Serafina, Lucy had morphed from a mouse into a lion. The steel in her voice could have sliced through metal.

“Wow! She takes ‘bridezilla’ to an entirely different level,” April whispered in my ear.

“Maybe all wedding planners are dragons in disguise.” My stomach cringed at the tongue-lashing that poor clerk from the rental supply store was receiving. Maybe I could de-escalate this. “Lucy, it’s okay. I don’t—”

Lucy held up a hand to stop me, but it was the look on her face that froze the words in my throat. Having spent most of my life on military bases, I recognized authority when I saw it. I resisted the urge to snap to attention and clamped my mouth shut.

“And I thought Serafina was the wicked witch. Who knew poor, little, mild-mannered Lucy would turn into a gremlin? Did anyone feed her after midnight? Get her wet?” Candy whispered in my other ear.

I was grateful that Baby Cakes Bakery was closed and only my staff and closest friends were around to hear the tongue-lashing.

“Was she ever in the Army? She reminds me of a drill sergeant I had during basic training,” Michael said.

“Save the excuses for someone who cares. Just have the white toppers and American gold fabric ties here in three days or—” Lucy’s bottom lip quivered, and tears poured down her face. After a few moments, she was hiccuping and shaking.

I walked over and pulled her into a hug. I held her while she sobbed on my shoulder.

Candy took the phone from Lucy and started talking.

“Pregnancy hormones.” Hannah Portman, Michael’s grandmother, came out of the back of the bakery with a glass of milk and a large slice of apple pie. “Sit and eat.”

It was an order, not a request, and Lucy obeyed. Two bites in, her shoulders went down about an eighth of an inch. The lines creasing her forehead relaxed by the fourth bite, and Lucy moaned. By the time both the pie and the milk were gone, the corners of her lips were curling upward. She gazed at Miss Hannah with puppy-dog eyes. “Thank you, Miss Hannah. That was wonderful.”

Hannah had been my great-aunt Octavia’s best friend for more than sixty years and was an excellent baker. She was also in the early stages of dementia. She had good days and bad. Today was a good day.

Candy giggled.

In my concern for Lucy, I’d forgotten about the phone call with the rental supply company. I looked at the front of the store, where Candy leaned against the glass counter, still talking on the phone. She twirled her hair as if the clerk could see her through the phone, and her voice dripped honey. Her eyes sparkled as though she were talking to an old friend instead of a complete stranger.

Candy ended the call and skipped to the café table at the back of the bakery, where we were all gathered. She grinned at me like a Cheshire cat. “You’re going to love me.”

“I already love you,” I said.

Candy preened. “You’re going to love me even more now that I’ve saved you a lot of money.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “If you’re saving money, then I love you, too.”

Candy could barely contain her joy and bounced with excitement. Apparently, the young clerk from the rental company had been traumatized more by Lucy’s tears than . . .