Love is Murder Read online

  Love

  is

  Murder

  A Cozy Baked Murder

  by

  Kate Bell

  Copyright © 2017 by Kate Bell. All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

  Other books by Kate Bell

  Apple Pie A La Murder,

  A Cozy Baked Murder, Book 1

  Trick or Treat and Murder,

  A Cozy Baked Murder, Book 2

  Turkey Trot Terror

  A Cozy Baked Murder, Book 3

  Candy Cane Killer

  A Cozy Baked Murder, Book 4

  Ice Cold Murder

  A Cozy Baked Murder, Book 5

  LOVE IS MURDER

  It had been two weeks since I had started blogging, baking and selling my wares at Henry’s Home Cooking Restaurant. Henry Hoffer’s widow, Cynthia Hoffer and I had an arrangement. I would bake up a storm and sell my goodies on consignment at the restaurant. No risk to her. If my cakes and pies didn’t sell, I bore the expense. If they did sell, she got a commission. To say it had been a successful venture was an overstatement. Most days I over-baked and had a lot of leftovers. A couple of times, I had under baked and left Cynthia’s customers wanting what they couldn’t have. Neither situation was good, and I needed to work on a better plan.

  It was February and I was working on cooking up something for Valentine’s Day. I knew Henry’s would be packed on the big day and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone by coming up short. Everyone knows chocolate and Valentine’s Day go hand in hand like colored eggs and Easter baskets.

  So far I had narrowed it down to a dark chocolate cake with raspberry filling and a strawberry truffle cheesecake. I wondered if I should come up with an alternate dessert as well. I didn’t want to leave out people with chocolate allergies.

  “What are you doing?” Alec asked, looking up from his Kindle. Alec was a reader and I loved that about him. He was as smart as he was handsome.

  “Trying to figure out what to bake for Valentine’s Day,” I said, flipping through my grandmama’s stained and worn recipe cards. Most of what she had baked came from her memory, but they usually began with a basic recipe of some sort. She made changes along the way, adding a little more of this and leaving that out. I cherished these age-yellowed cards. As a child I had spent many a rainy afternoon at her house helping her to bake a warm, cozy sweet to brighten the day.

  “Chocolate,” he said, turning back to his Kindle. He was stretched out on my sofa, shoes on the floor beside him. His dark hair needed a trim. It was falling over his impossibly blue eyes.

  “Ya think?” I asked.

  “Yup,” he answered without looking up.

  “I wonder if I could convert her decadent chocolate cake to a white decadent chocolate cake?” I mused. “That way people could have a choice. It could come in both flavors. Raspberry filling would be good in it.”

  “You could make one side of the cake white and one chocolate,” he suggested.

  “Oh, that would be beautiful!” I said, picturing it in my mind. I had some large, fourteen inch round cake pans I could use. I could set up a divider of some sort when I baked the layers, and then remove the divider and put the layers together. But then the white chocolate would be touching the dark chocolate and that might be a problem for some with allergies

  I sighed and continued flipping through the cards. Grandmama had kept the recipe cards in an old tin recipe box that had an orange floral landscape on the box. I picked up a card that had a chocolate chip cookie recipe on it and smiled. I was instantly transported back to my nine year old self on a rainy day in March. I had wanted cookies. There was a dark smudge in the corner. I was the reason for that smudge. The chocolate chips were too tasty to resist and I had been shoving handfuls of them in my mouth when Grandmama wasn’t looking. They had melted on my hand and when I picked up the card, I left a chocolate smudge in the corner. A tear sprang to my eye and I brushed it away.

  Alec’s phone rang and he reached for it from the coffee table. He glanced at it, then sat up and put his Kindle down. “Alec Blanchard,” he said, answering the phone.

  “Yes?” he said. “I see.”

  I continued flipping through the recipes, and every now and then, glancing over at Alec. He was mostly silent, only making a few noncommittal sounds here and there. He had whipped out his notebook and started jotting something down.

  Finally, he said goodbye and hit end on the phone.

  I looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’ve got my first case,” he said and gave me a smile.

  Alec had retired from being a police detective at the end of the previous year and had taken and passed the Maine PI test a couple of weeks ago. I was proud of him for venturing out on his own. He hadn’t gotten along especially well with the local police chief and he had become restless.

  “Congratulations!” I said excitedly. “So, what’s the scoop?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Allie, I’m working for myself now. I have to keep people’s business confidential or word will get around and there won’t be any repeat business.”

  “Alec, consider me an employee of yours. Or practically an employee, anyway. I’m going to help you with investigations. I am completely trustworthy,” I said, giving him a military salute.

  “And you have a tendency to gossip and tell your gossipy friend everything,” he pointed out.

  I gasped. “I am not gossipy! And neither is Lucy!”

  “Oh?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow at me.

  “Alec Blanchard! Lucy and I have been a big help to you on past cases. Admit it. We’ve gotten you information that you never would have gotten on your own,” I reminded him.

  He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I guess that’s true. You both have come up with some important information from time to time,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to break anyone’s trust. This town is too small and once I get a reputation for not keeping things confidential, there’ll be no way to gain back the public’s trust.”

  Now it was my turn to sigh. “Listen Sherlock Holmes, I completely understand. You want professionalism. I promise, I will be completely professional. Scout’s honor,” I said, now giving him the Girl Scout salute.

  He shook his head slowly at me. “Do you know who Meg Cranston is?” he asked.

  I brightened. “Nope. Not a clue. But what about her?”

  He leaned back against the back of the sofa. “She thinks her husband’s cheating. She wants me to get proof.”

  “A cheating husband? That’s it?” I asked, disappointed. I had helped Alec solve several murders over the past few months and I had rather enjoyed it. Except for the times I nearly became a murder victim myself. Hunting killers had its drawbacks.

  “Sorry, Watson,” he said with a smirk. “Being a PI will probably be pretty boring compared to being a police detective.”

  “All right. Fine. I’ll have to adjust my expectations,” I said and returned my attention to my recipe cards.

  “What are the husband’s and the girlfriend’s names?”

  “Spencer Cranston and Jenna Maples.”

  I thought for a minute. “Neither of those names sound familiar. It seems like more and more people are moving to town these days though. Maybe they are recent transplants.”

  “Could be,” Alec mused. “Oh, and by the way, I’ve rented an office. The place isn’t m
uch to look at, and I’ll need to do some renovations. Since you’re my self-appointed assistant, I’ll expect you to do your share of the work.”

  “What?” I said, slowly looking up from my recipe cards.

  He nodded. “Ayup,” he said laying his Maine accent on thick. “Needs new carpet and painting. I didn’t venture into the bathroom, but by the smell that was coming through the open door, I’m pretty sure it needs a good scrubbing. I’m assigning that job to you.”

  “No. I don’t think so,” I said, scrunching up my face. “I don’t do bathrooms. And where is it located?”

  “Aster Street.”

  I thought about it, trying to picture where it was. “Wait. Isn’t that the same building the mayor’s office is in?”

  “The one and only. Just think of all the excitement that must go on down there. And we’ll get to be a part of it,” he said.

  I giggled. “I bet Bob Payne will be thrilled to see us every day.”

  Bob Payne was a loan officer at the Bank of Maine by day and mayor of Sandy Harbor by night. Alec and I were not high on the mayor’s list of favorite people since we had discovered that his mother had poisoned local businesswoman, Diana Bowen. His mama had been thrown into the slammer and he still held it against us. It wasn’t our fault though. She shouldn’t have murdered someone.

  “He’ll adjust,” Alec said. “But I really need to get the repairs and painting done. I need an office where I can see clients. It isn’t an ideal location, being upstairs and all, but the rent was cheap and I didn’t have to sign a lease. It will work for now.”

  “What about if you have clients that can’t manage the stairs?” I asked.

  “I guess I’ll have to figure out another place to meet them,” he said. “I think we should start cleaning first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh, wait, I have cakes to bake,” I reminded him. I remembered the mayor’s office hadn’t been updated since 1976 and I was certain a lot of work was involved with this little cleanup.

  “I’ll help you with your baking and you can help me with my cleaning. How does that sound?” he asked.

  I smiled at him. “That sounds like fun, Sherlock.”

  Getting to work with Alec would ease the pain of having to clean a nasty bathroom.

  --2--

  Alec was true to his word and arrived at my house at 5:30 in the morning to help with my baking. I was surprised that he seemed to know his way around a kitchen. We’d been dating for five months and he had kept this talent a secret. In short order I had three lemon pound cakes, a double recipe of orange scones and four cherry pies baked and ready to be dropped off at Henry’s.

  “You are a baking whiz,” I told him.

  He just laughed and pulled the pies out of the oven.

  Ever since I had decided to go into the baking business, I had had my eye on a new stove. The regular oven I owned just wasn’t big enough. I needed something else. I loved the restored vintage stoves with double ovens I had been seeing online and on the cooking channels and was seriously considering getting one. I just wasn’t sure my business could pay for a new stove yet.

  We drove over to Henry’s and I let us in the back door. Cynthia had given me a key so I wouldn’t have to disturb anyone when I dropped the desserts off. Alec carried the four pies in individual carriers while I carried the cakes and scones. I had invested in some nice dessert carriers with carry straps and was glad I had. They made my life easier.

  As we walked through the back door, I avoided looking at the area where I had found Henry Hoffer, dead with a knife sticking out of his chest. Martha Newberry had lost her mind and killed him off one night and I still had flashbacks of seeing his body lying there. The shock of seeing a dead body for the first time never quite goes away.

  “Just keep going,” Alec said, knowing I still struggled with it.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, pushing the image out of my mind.

  “Did you and Cynthia decide where to place the display case?” he asked, trying to keep my mind off of Henry.

  “Yes, it’s up front,” I said and led Alec to the dining room cash register. The cherrywood dessert cabinet I had bought to display my desserts in sat near the cash register so anyone who entered or left the restaurant would pass by them. I hadn’t sold many whole pies or cakes yet, but I hoped to. Most people just bought my desserts by the slice.

  I set the dessert carriers down and I opened the glass door and pulled out the display stands. I had bought extras so they could be washed later and just replaced by clean ones. I put some fresh paper doilies on each one and removed the cakes from the carriers and put them on the displays. Someone from the restaurant would uncover them when they opened for business.

  When we were done, I turned to Alec. “Now to your office?”

  “Let’s take a drive by Stanton Industries first,” he said and we headed back toward the kitchen.

  “Stanton Industries?” I asked. “Why?”

  “That’s where my client said her husband works. I just want to take a look around,” he said.

  “Do you know what Stanton Industries is?” I asked. “What kind of business, I mean?”

  He nodded his head and held the back door open for me. I loved a gentleman.

  “His wife said it was a software development company. Her husband’s an IT person.”

  “I don’t think they’ve been in town long,” I said. “I haven’t really heard much about them.”

  Alec locked the door and we headed to his car. Alec had finally bought himself a vehicle to replace the police issue black SUV that he had to give up when he retired. And surprise, what did he buy? A black SUV. He wasn’t much on variety, but it was nice for hauling baked goods in.

  It was a cold, crisp morning without a cloud in sight. I laid my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes as Alec drove. The early mornings had been rough on me.

  We pulled into the parking lot of Stanton Industries and Alec parked in a far corner. The building was a stand alone near the edge of town and the nearest building was about a quarter mile away. The part of the parking lot nearest the building was filled with cars. If I had to guess, I would say there were around fifty of them. I wondered if these were all local people or if people commuted from nearby towns.

  Alec pulled out his notebook and pen. I noticed he had bought a new notebook. It was black leather bound with lined pages. Fancy. It made me smile. A new notebook for a new chapter in his life.

  He scanned the cars in the parking lot, and made some notes. I opened my purse and took out the binoculars I had brought and started doing the same.

  “What kind of car does he drive?” I asked.

  “A gray Buick. 2012,” he said, still looking at the cars.

  “Gray Buick? That doesn’t sound very sexy. How old is this guy?” I asked, searching for the car.

  “Forty-three,” he answered.

  “Wow,” I said. “He’s driving a grandma car.”

  “He’s IT. They don’t usually do sexy,” he said and turned toward me. “Where did you get those?”

  “Sporting goods department at Walmart,” I said, without stopping my scanning.

  “Seriously?” he asked.

  “What?” I asked, putting the binoculars down.

  “May I?” he asked, holding his hand out for them.

  “Aren’t you glad you have me here? You didn’t even think about binoculars,” I said smugly and handed them to him.

  He sighed and put the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the cars. “I don’t think he’s here. Let’s head over to an address on Cherry Avenue. 1201 to be exact,” he said. “I want to see what’s going on there and then we can head over to my new office and get to work.”

  “What’s at that address?” I asked.

  “Possibly a who,” he said, handing me the binoculars.

  “Husband’s girlfriend?”

  “That’s what the wife says,” he said and started the car.

  “Cherry Avenue is a nice
, middleclass neighborhood,” I mused as we pulled away.

  “All sorts of things happen in nice, middleclass neighborhoods,” Alec countered.

  “That’s true,” I said and giggled. I was pretty sure there were lots of middleclass neighborhoods in this world where things happened. Some of which would eventually require police intervention at some point in time.

  The address we were looking for was across the street from Cherry Avenue Park. The park was small, with a play area that consisted of a swing set, slide and one of those old fashioned merry go rounds that you pushed by holding onto the bars and running alongside. I used to love those things when I was a kid. Alec parked on the corner of the park on the cross street so we had a clear view of the girlfriend’s house.

  The house was white and was a smaller, 1950’s build with green shuttered windows and neat flower boxes. It was very cute and well kept. There was a little bit of melting snow in the browned front yard, but I was sure that come spring, the grass would be green and flowers would be planted in those boxes. It was just one of those kind of houses.

  Alec asked for my binoculars and trained them on the house. The front window blinds were open.

  “Can you see inside?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “What’s going on?” I asked excitedly. “Let me have those back!”

  He put the binoculars down and looked at me. “Seriously? That’s an invasion of privacy.”

  “You’re doing it,” I pointed out. Mr. Everything-By-The-Book got on my nerves sometimes.

  “I’m a trained professional,” he said with a smirk.

  I sighed and leaned back in my seat. He always got to have all the fun. “I don’t even think anyone’s home.”

  “Maybe not,” he said.

  Alec stared at the house for what seemed like forever. I was bored and wanted to go take a look at his office. Meg Cranston was probably just paranoid about her husband, anyway.