A SWEET SPOONFUL OF CYANIDE: A Brightwater Bay Cozy Mystery (book 3) Read online

  A Sweet Spoonful of Cyanide: A Brightwater Bay Cozy Mystery (book 3)

  By Beth Byers, Carolyn L. Dean, and Angela C Blackmoore

  A SWEET SPOONFUL OF Cyanide: A Brightwater Bay Cozy Mystery (book 3) is copyright 2018 by Freeform Publishing. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author(s) or publisher(s), except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  Dedication from Beth Byers:

  For Michael. Like the rest of my books, you won’t read this. (Punk) But it’s still for you. Love you, brother.

  Table of Contents

  A Sweet Spoonful of Cyanide

  Dedication:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Author’s Notes

  Chapter 1

  “Hey, just because I dropped it on the floor doesn’t mean it belongs to you.”

  Roscoe looked up at his mistress, feigned innocence in his doggie eyes, a piece of warm toast still dangling out of the corner of his mouth.

  “You know, you never move as fast as when food falls off the counter,” Claire said. Come on, buddy. Drop it,” she urged her little black and white companion as she put out her hand. She could see the playful sparkle in his eyes, which meant he was either hoping to play a game of Keep Away or to quickly gulp down the unexpected treat before she made him stop. “Look, I promise I’ll get your breakfast in your food bowl in a couple of minutes, and it’ll be much better for you than just a piece of bread.”

  There was a moment where Roscoe seemed to calculate his options, and then he took a slow step forward and placed the toast in Claire’s hand. She tried to ignore the soggy bit where he’d had it in his mouth as she dropped it in the nearby trashcan.

  “Good boy,” she praised him, as she opened a can of his favorite squishy food and dumped it into his dish. “It’s going to be a big day today, so we’d better get off to a good start.”

  Face happily buried in his breakfast, Roscoe didn’t hear the deep sigh Claire gave as she took a pottery bowl out from the cupboard and poured herself some cornflakes.

  She was trying to keep her mind off the weekly challenge she knew she’d have to deal with that day at the bakery. Tuesdays were always stressful, so Claire took an extra few minutes to look out the window of her little cottage and absorb the peaceful view. She still loved waking up to the scenic beauty of Brightwater Bay. Coming from dry Arizona had taught Claire to truly appreciate the lush green of the Pacific Northwest. It was more beautiful than she would’ve thought was possible, especially with the ocean laid out in dazzling splendor in front of her. Today, the sky was uncharacteristically blue and clear, a rare gift in normally rainy Washington State. It set off the jade-green of the broad ocean beneath it and scattered the bay’s waves with sunlit sparkles. White clouds drifted along on the sea breeze, and the emerald lushness of the fir trees seemed to frame her view like an exquisite painting. Her two-bedroom rental cottage was small, but it was certainly worth living in a cozy place to get a view like that before going to work.

  Losing her husband had taught Claire to enjoy the little things, like morning coffee, her sweet and devoted dog, and the natural beauty surrounding her in Brightwater Bay. When she’d first arrived and her car had broken down outside of town, she’d been running from bad memories and the reality of going back to an empty house and a broken heart. Somehow, driving as far from Arizona as she could had seemed like the best way to heal the pain she’d gone through over the previous year and a half. She’d been running away, but she hadn’t expected to find a whole new life in a brand-new place.

  Brightwater Bay had been the best surprise she’d ever had. It was a little town nestled on the northern Washington coast, right across from the beautiful San Juan Islands. Tourists used its ferries to travel back and forth to the nearby islands to enjoy the local beauty, kayaking, whale watching, or making their way to the nearby Canadian border. Much of the town was made up of war-era houses and quiet streets lined by antique lampposts and rows of locally owned shops. There was a slower pace in the little village that calmed Claire’s soul, and she could see why some people couldn’t resist its quaint charm and gorgeous surroundings. She’d never been interested in living somewhere with wild nightlife and lots of people crammed into city streets. Even so, she’d still been surprised at how much getting to know her neighbors and becoming part of the local community suited her.

  When her husband died, Claire had left behind the faster-paced world in Arizona. She’d worked a mundane job in the accounting department of a large corporation, and she had never missed that career. It had been stressful and boring, and she hated getting up to head out to work every day. She truly loved her new job as a baker at the plush Brightwater Bay Resort. There was a deep satisfaction in creating food that people loved to eat. The new job and new skills turned out to be exactly what she had needed, and she’d been fortunate enough to also find a new boyfriend, a small group of really good friends, and a tidy little home that overlooked the beauty of the town.

  Claire’s cottage was something of a relic, though it was solid, snug, and warm. Relic or not, she’d much rather live in this old home with such astounding beauty outside than back in the too-hot, too-brown, and too-dry climate of Arizona. She took a moment to close her eyes, take another long sip of hot coffee, and thank whatever angels had been looking over her during the past few months. It was probably just the feel of the morning and the quiet that made her so introspective, and she gave herself a mental shake. She needed to finish her coffee, dress, and drive to the bakery.

  “All right, Roscoe. I think you’ve licked every last food molecule out of that bowl,” Claire said to her little furry companion. Roscoe wasn’t particularly a fan of early mornings, but he’d gotten used to getting up early and going to the bakery with Claire. He even had a little doggie bed in the tiny breakroom, away from where the food was being made, so he could keep a protective eye on Claire, his favorite human.

  As she walked outside and locked the deadbolt on her front door, her landlady, Daisy, waved from the front porch of her nearby cottage and called out, “Hello, dear. Off to work?” Her stick-straight dark hair framed large eyes set in a friendly face, and her thin figure was bundled up in an oversized coat to ward off the morning chill.

  “Good morning, Daisy,” Claire replied with a broad smile. She gave Roscoe a few minutes to do his business before helping him into her car. “Someone else watching the coffeeshop today?”

  Daisy nodded. “Yeah, I hired a new guy, named Beau. He’s kinda a granola-hippie sort of person, but he makes a mean latte, and he’s got some great ideas for the business. You should stop by the shop and try one of his iced coffee drinks.” She smiled and winked. “To die for!”

  “I will,” Claire promised as she juggled her purse and her keys, then opened her car door. “Need me to bring anything back for your coffeeshop? We’re trying out a new raspberry and orange scone, and so far it’s a huge hit.”

  Daisy’s laugh rang out and then she admitted, “Sounds great. I still haven’t been able to make anything that tastes better than what you make over at the bakery, and I’d be happy for whatever you can bring me.”

  It was a conversation they had every morning, and Claire didn’t mind the repetitiveness of it. Daisy was a good and kind woman who’d helped Claire out when she’d arrived and needed a place to stay. Claire was more than happy to make delicious baked goods for the coffeeshop, especially since Daisy had worked out a long-term rental deal for Claire. She was a good landlord and was becoming a good friend, too.

  Claire put Roscoe on his little blanket in the back seat, then climbed into her car and waved goodbye to her friend. Like dogs everywhere, Roscoe couldn’t resist putting his paws up on the window and looking outside as they wound their way through the town, his little face full of rapt fascination.

  The narrow road led her down to Main Street, then turned and went by the ferry landing. Every time she saw the cars lining up as they waited to go on the ferry, Claire thought of Scott Bedford. After the death of her husband, Claire hadn’t expected to find another relationship but, to her surprise, she had. It was still a bit awkward, dating as a fairly young widow, but Scott had been patient and kind with her, and she’d appreciated it. He worked on the ferries that ran between the cluster of San Juan Islands, and spent most of his free time working on a house he’d designed and was building on the back acreage of his mother’s farm. As much as he loved architecture, he loved Brightwater Bay more, and was working steadily to get the certifications he’d need to become a ferryboat captain in his own right.

  The first ferry run of the day wouldn’t take place for almost another hour, so perhaps Scott was enjoying his own coffee somewhere. She’d been more of a tea drinker when she’d first arrived in town, but it had become a habit to meet up with Scott or her friend Molly for morning coffee
, and after a bit she was hooked on the amazing aroma and rich taste. It was a new facet of her new life.

  One of her favorite times of day was when she got to drive to work. Unlike Arizona, the short distance to her day job was uncluttered by other cars. It was relaxing and pleasant, winding through a lush forest. The roads of Brightwater Bay were empty except for wisps of haunting fog, that made Claire think of gothic novels from college.

  The popular bakery was housed in the Brightwater Bay Resort, but since there was some maintenance being done on the parking lot in front of it, the only entrance was through the huge doors at the main lobby of the resort. Walking through the vaulted halls with their plush carpets and vaulted ceiling, she took a moment to admire the grandeur of it all. It was lovely to work somewhere so beautiful, and the other employees knew her well enough that they smiled and greeted her as she walked by.

  Claire used her key to open the big door of the bakery’s lobby, then locked it again behind herself, Roscoe still tucked under her arm. The public area of the bakery was up to Mrs. Applegate’s impeccable standards, as always, with a spotless marble counter and tidy display case, full of freshly baked goodies. Mrs. Applegate must have already put some cinnamon rolls in the oven, because the rich smell of cooking sugar, cinnamon, and buttery bread dough was heavy in the air. Her mouth watering, Claire made a mental note to have a frosting-topped cinnamon roll as her mid-morning snack when she took her break, and to pack a few extra for home and friends

  As soon as she got into the small breakroom, Roscoe hopped into his doggie bed with a contented sigh, and Claire washed her hands. “Stay,” she said firmly, but Roscoe already had his eyes closed in near-sleep, set to dream of puppy adventures and rabbits he could chase.

  “Good morning, dear,” Mrs. Applegate trilled as soon as Claire walked in the backroom kitchen. Hairnet in place over her carefully curled hairdo, she was stirring a big batch of batter with an enormous spoon held in both hands. Mrs. Applegate was a lively lady with an open, happy face and a spring in her step that belied her age. Some people would’ve been planning for retirement at her stage in life, but Claire couldn’t picture her talented employer anywhere other than standing at a running mixer full of cake batter or handing out free sugar cookies as samples to happy kids at the front counter.

  “Did you sleep well?” Mrs. Applegate asked, and Claire grinned and nodded. After months of insomnia, somehow living here had made it possible to sleep deeply again, waking up refreshed and ready to start her day. It had been amazing to feel rested.

  “So, what’s in the bowl?” she asked, and Mrs. Applegate paused to catch her breath.

  “German chocolate. I’ve got orders for four triple-level cakes, and I need to get these done.” She blew out a ragged breath of frustration. “I swear, I’m going to have to start putting this stuff on the big mixer. I used to be able to do this myself for such a small batch, but I have to admit I’m not getting any younger.” She jerked her chin at Claire. “Are you ready to put Mrs. Park’s cake together?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

  Just the thought made Claire mentally cringe. It was what she’d been dreading all week, and the pleasure of her morning drained away. “Absolutely,” Claire said with a forced smile, not wanting to show Mrs. Applegate her true feelings. Every Friday, like clockwork, Mrs. Park picked up a cake. Claire wished she could say baking Mrs. Park’s weekly cake order was a delight, but the truth was Mrs. Park wasn’t someone a person enjoyed. Her reputation for unwarranted criticism and an abrasive nature was well-earned, and dealing with her was an ordeal Claire detested.

  She adjusted her big apron, tied it on with a sharp jerk, and checked to make sure her hair was pulled back. When one of her favorite Motown songs came on the radio, Claire couldn’t help but dance a bit as she pulled the cooled, wrapped cakes out of the fridge. The plan was to cut each cake layer in half to provide more layers of cake and cream. She had no doubt it would be a delicious creation, and only wished Mrs. Park would agree. The more Claire got to know the cranky woman, however, the more she realized there was very little Mrs. Park did enjoy, except perhaps stepping on other people to make herself feel taller. Shrugging the dark thought aside, Claire hoped Mrs. Park’s guests, at least, would love the cake Claire had worked so hard on.

  She tried to dwell on the cake and not the cranky customer, and that seemed to help. Humming a bit, she lost herself in the routine of evening out cake layers and filling them. Claire got a lot of satisfaction from having a cake look perfect, and she often imagined how pleased someone would be when they cut into the layers and took that first heavenly bite. This week, Mrs. Park had ordered a cherry almond amaretto cream cake, and it would be beautiful, with slivered almonds pressed into the amaretto frosting. Claire enjoyed smoothing the lush icing as the decorating turntable spun. There was something soothing about holding the spatula still and watching the frosting flatten out perfectly under its wide blade.

  Setting her spatula down, she used a small tasting spoon to scoop up a bit of frosting, letting it melt into her mouth and meld with the leftover coffee flavors. Oh, she thought with a secret smile of satisfaction, that’s really good. She’d have to make this cake for her and Scott on one of their date nights. She bet he’d love it. He’d already started joking about how he’d have to start jogging to burn off the extra goodies she was bringing home to have him try.

  By the time Claire had finished putting together several cakes, including a carrot raisin, a devil’s food, and a vanilla with raspberry filling, Sandy, the counter girl had arrived. Sandy was chatty and friendly, and better with charming customers than she was with baking. With a cheerful wave at Claire, she started prepping the counter, making sure everything was spotless and in place, and that the gleaming display case was stocked with the day’s delicious offerings.

  There were always a few customers who were loitering outside the locked doors first thing in the morning, waiting for the moment the doors opened so they could rush in to claim their goodies. The bakery was well-known for the fabulous treats, and it was definitely worth a little drive away from Main Street to get one of their famous raspberry tarts or bear claws. Sandy seemed to love being the person who unlocked the doors and ushered the waiting customers inside, and she went out of her way to be friendly and witty as she waited on them. Add on to that the fact that the girl made a great cup of coffee, and it was apparent why Mrs. Applegate valued her so much.

  The morning seemed to fly by, and a few hours later, while Sandy was taking her break, Claire helped out at the front counter. She felt more at ease in the backroom, cooking, but she’d learned to enjoy meeting people in the front of the bakery, too. Chatting and smiling, she served up two raspberry tarts and two cinnamon rolls—one with cream cheese frosting and one with caramel—to a family of four. They mentioned they’d come up from Seattle and talked about the music museum, Pike’s Place Market, and the Space Needle for a few minutes before another customer, Mr. Moody, came in. Claire knew exactly what he wanted, so she made a large espresso and popped two slices of cinnamon bread in the toaster, all while chatting and asking about his grandchildren.

  When Claire had first started working at the bakery, she’d been surprised anyone would make the trek for such simple things, but she’d had the cinnamon raisin bread toasted a few times with dairy-fresh butter, and realized she’d been foolish when she’d first judged Arnold Moody’s food choice. Now, she truly enjoyed their daily chats about baseball games, the weather, and the new zipline business another neighbor was endlessly discussing but never quite finishing.

  While she toasted the bread, the door of the bakery slammed open and a shrunken little lady with a lion-headed cane and a sour expression entered. Claire tried to hide her flinch as she called out, “Good morning, Mrs. Park. I’ll be right with you.”

  Well, so much for a peaceful morning.

  Chapter 2

  “I’d like to speak to Mrs. Applegate,” Mrs. Park loudly snapped at Claire.