SWEET REVENGE

  A PINK CUPCAKE MYSTERY BOOK 11

  HARPER LIN

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  SWEET REVENGE

  Copyright © 2025 by Harper Lin.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  www.harperlin.com

  CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter 15

  Recipe 1: Honey Lavender Cupcakes

  Recipe 2: Dark Chocolate Raspberry Truffle Cupcake

  About the Author

  A Note From Harper

  Excerpt from “Inn for Murder”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Amelia Walishovsky, though she still sometimes caught herself saying “Harley,” paused at the curb and took a long, deep breath. The buttery scent of vanilla and sugar drifted through the crisp Oregon morning air, warm and familiar, like a welcome-home hug. Even from a distance, she could tell that The Pink Cupcake was already awake and working its magic.

  After two blissful weeks in the Bahamas with Dan, of hammocks, umbrella drinks, and pretending real life didn’t exist, she was supposed to feel rested. And she did, mostly.

  There had been no orders to fill. No last-minute ingredient substitutions. No one asking for a gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free cupcake and then complaining that it didn’t taste like a regular one. Her only decisions had been whether to try the mango or passionfruit daiquiri and how much SPF to slather on before a walk along the beach.

  It had been paradise. But this was home.

  As she looked at the familiar stretch of Food Truck Alley, now bustling with early morning prep, she felt a comforting tug in her chest. Trucks were rolling open their awnings, the usual aroma of barbecue, garlic, and strong coffee mingling in the air. Vendors she knew were setting up with their typical pre-service choreography: stretching cords, firing up grills, wiping down counters, and already exchanging cheerful insults with neighboring food trucks.

  Her gaze found The Pink Cupcake immediately. Her own truck. Her pride and joy. It looked like a pastel-colored dream among a lineup of rugged, metallic griddles and deep fryers. The cheery pink paint still held up well against the elements, and the looping white script across the side looked more whimsical than cutesy now. A couple of years ago, she’d worried it was too precious. Now, it was iconic.

  She made her way across the lot, her boots crunching softly on the gravel, and spotted movement inside the truck. There was Lila, hunched over her laptop at the narrow side table, her messy ponytail bobbing as she tapped with laser focus. She was probably already knee-deep in inventory spreadsheets or calculating margins to the third decimal.

  And there was Beatrice. Covered in flour as usual, standing at the prep counter with the concentration of a sculptor chiseling out a statue from cake batter. Her brow furrowed, her entire body committed to the sacred act of mixing. Only Beatrice could make stirring look heroic.

  Amelia smiled. Some things never changed, and thank goodness for that.

  She stepped up to the truck and knocked twice on the metal siding, the way she always did, before climbing inside.

  Lila didn’t even glance up. “Oh good, you’re back,” she said dryly. “You’re officially on duty again.”

  Amelia snorted. “Nice to see you too, Lila. I missed the warmth.”

  Beatrice turned from her bowl like she was emerging from a trance, her face grave. She pointed her whisk at Amelia as if delivering a dire warning.

  “Do you have any idea how many people ask for wedding-themed cupcakes when their cousin’s coworker’s sister gets engaged?”

  Amelia blinked. “Uh… A lot?”

  Beatrice threw up her hands, exasperated. “A ridiculous amount! I have been asked to make cupcakes that ‘represent the couple’s journey through life together.’ What does that even mean? Am I supposed to bake their childhood memories into buttercream?”

  Lila smirked without looking up, her fingers still tapping away at her laptop like a piano virtuoso on deadline. “I told her she should just make two cupcakes and put a fondant bridge between them. ‘Journey through life together,’ done. Boom. Metaphor accomplished.”

  Beatrice, never one to let sarcasm pass unchecked, pointed a flour-dusted wooden spoon at her like a teacher delivering a pop quiz. “You laugh, but I have been dealing with these people for two weeks. Two. Weeks. Of Pinterest boards and ‘vision cupcakes.’ Do you know what a ‘cupcake mood board’ is? Because I do. I’ve seen one. I’ve survived one.”

  Amelia grinned, unwrapping her scarf and hanging it by the back door hook. “So, what I’m hearing is that the truck didn’t burn down while I was gone.”

  Lila snorted. “Barely. You owe me hazard pay. Or at the very least a spa gift card. I’ve earned a facial just from listening to someone debate whether a rose petal swirl ‘truly captures eternal love.’”

  Beatrice let out a long, theatrical sigh, setting her spoon down as though the weight of cupcake-related nonsense had finally broken her spirit. “And yet,” she said with melodramatic flair, “the real tragedy is that no one was murdered.”

  Amelia groaned, laughing as she made her way to the sink. “Oh, come on. Can’t I go on one vacation without you two acting like I’m the town’s designated death magnet?”

  Lila and Beatrice exchanged a perfectly timed glance. “No,” they said in unison before breaking into laughter.

  Amelia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help grinning. She washed her hands in the warm water, the scent of vanilla soap and the gentle hiss of the faucet grounding her, tugging her back into routine. She reached for a dish towel, dried her hands, and turned slowly in a little circle, taking in the truck like it was an old friend she hadn’t seen in a while.

  Everything was exactly how she’d left it. The counter space was lined with her measuring cups and piping bags, all tucked into their proper places. The glass display case gleamed beneath the lights, already stocked with the morning’s first batch of cupcakes: classic vanilla, chocolate ganache, and something pink and sparkly Beatrice had definitely invented in a moment of manic genius. Her recipe notebook sat tucked in its usual corner, its pages just slightly curled from flour-dusted fingertips and years of use.

  It was cozy. It was cluttered. It was perfect. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed this place.

  Lila looked up again, her smirk softened into something warmer. “Seriously, though. It’s good to have you back.”

  Beatrice nodded, brushing flour off her apron with a quick swipe. “Agreed. You’re the only one who can handle the really difficult customers.”

  Amelia raised a brow, already sensing the trap. “And by difficult, you mean...?”

  Beatrice’s face twisted into a grimace. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough.”

  Lila took a sip of her coffee, her eyes glittering with mischief. “Consider it a welcome-back gift.”

  “Why do I get the feeling my peaceful honeymoon bubble is about to be violently popped?”

  Lila raised her cup slightly in a mock toast. “Because it is.” She leaned one elbow on the counter, voice casual but loaded. “The whole food truck crew’s been talking about your new favorite customer.”

  Amelia froze mid-wipe of the counter. “That… doesn’t sound good.”

  Beatrice, now transferring a fresh tray of cupcakes into the display case, snorted. “Oh, you’re going to love this.”

  Before Amelia could dig for details, a familiar figure appeared outside the window. Kev from The Fry Shack strolled up with his usual confident gait, though today, his easygoing grin was noticeably dimmed by exhaustion.

  “Finally back, huh?” he said, shaking his head as he approached. “Good, because I can’t deal with Evelyn anymore.”

  Mina from Curry Express leaned out of her service window across the lot, her long braid swinging like a punctuation mark as she groaned, “Ugh, Evelyn. That woman is a menace.”

  From the other direction, Big Brad from Smoky B’s BBQ looked up from his grill, tongs in one hand, and wiped the other on his smoke-stained apron. His deep voice rumbled across the alley. “She came by last week and said my brisket was—get this—‘too smoky.’”

  Amelia blinked, genuinely confused. “It’s… barbecue.”

  Brad lifted both hands in disbelief, tongs still flapping. “That’s what I said! It’s literally in the name!”

  He looked to the sky like he was hoping for divine intervention, then shook his head and went back to flipping ribs.

  “I bet she’s still banned from the farmers’ market,” Kev mumbled.

  Mina gave a knowing nod and crossed her arms. “Oh, she is. She got into it with the jam vendor again. Claimed she could taste preservatives in the homemade raspberry preserves.”

  Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Did she prove it?”

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  Mina smirked. “Of course not. But that didn’t stop her from standing on a crate and shouting, ‘Boycott the frauds!’ like she was leading a revolution.”

  Brad gave a gruff laugh and tossed another slab of meat on the grill. “She threatened to call the state agricultural board. Over a jar of jam. A jam emergency.”

  Kev gave an exaggerated sigh. “I knew she was bad news, but last week? That was peak Evelyn.”

  Amelia frowned slightly, arms crossed. “Should I even ask what happened?”

  Beatrice, sensing the cue like a seasoned stage performer, clapped her hands together, sending a puff of flour into the air as she struck a storytelling pose. “Oh, you missed a good one.”

  Amelia's shoulders lifted slightly with a preemptive wince. “How bad are we talking?”

  Beatrice shook her head. “She threw a fit over a cupcake.”

  Amelia didn’t even try to hide the groan. “Of course she did.”

  Lila chimed in with a sly smile. “But not just any cupcake.” She gave Amelia a nudge. “Your honey lavender lemon one.”

  Amelia’s eyes widened. “Wait, that was a new flavor we were testing.”

  “Yep,” Beatrice said, nodding solemnly. “And she called it—” she used air quotes “‘an assault on her taste buds.’”

  Amelia stared. “You’re joking.”

  Beatrice gestured to herself, covered in flour. “Do I look like I’m joking? I spent ten minutes watching that woman poke at it with a fork like it had personally offended her family. She dissected that poor cupcake like she was prepping it for an autopsy.”

  Kev shook his head. “More like an assault on our patience.”

  Mina let out a soft snort, brushing a crumb from her apron. “Honestly, if she hates everything so much, why does she keep coming back?”

  Amelia glanced at Lila, who was already raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Lila said, sipping her coffee. “Something tells me she’s very invested.”

  Amelia shook her head, half-laughing despite herself. “Well… I guess I should be flattered she’s this obsessed with our recipes.”

  She tried to laugh it off, to let it land as just another story in a long line of Food Truck Alley dramas.

  But deep down, something didn’t sit right.

  Difficult customers were part of the job. There were always a few who complained too much, or expected their cupcake to fix their emotional baggage. But Evelyn didn’t sound like the usual brand of picky or petty. She sounded deliberate. She sounded like trouble.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The lunch rush was in full swing, and The Pink Cupcake thrummed like a well-oiled machine, a pink-and-frosted engine fueled by joy and efficiency.

  Outside, the line stretched into a pleasant curve, filled with chattering customers debating their flavor choices, snapping selfies, and posting mid-bite cupcake reviews in real time. The sweet scent of vanilla, sugar, and buttercream swirled in the air.

  Inside the truck, Amelia moved with the quiet grace of someone who knew exactly when to step forward and when to get out of the way. She wiped her hands on a towel, the soft feel of the fabric grounding her. The day had unfolded with an almost eerie smoothness: orders rolling in, cupcakes rolling out, no fires, literal or otherwise, to put out.

  Beatrice stood at the prep counter like an artist at her canvas, piping buttercream swirls with a focus that bordered on spiritual. Each swirl landed with her signature flourish. Her movements were slow and so precise that Amelia half-expected her to sign her name in icing.

  At the front, Lila worked the register like she was conducting a symphony. Tap, swipe, click, smile. She answered customer questions with just the right amount of charm and speed, calculated down to the second.

  For one blissful moment, Amelia felt it, that rare, elusive calm that came when every gear clicked into place. She allowed herself to exhale.

  And then, like thunder cracking through a blue sky, a voice shattered the peace.

  “This is absolutely unacceptable!”

  The air inside the truck shifted on a dime.

  Beatrice froze mid-squeeze, her piping bag erupting into a fat, squiggly blob that slumped sideways on the cupcake like a deflated hat. Lila’s fingers hovered over the touchscreen, frozen mid-transaction. A customer’s phone, which had just been capturing a video of their glitter-frosted cupcake, slowly lowered. Even outside the truck, the usual hum of conversation went still. Heads turned. Necks craned. People leaned sideways, rubbernecking toward the service window.

  Amelia closed her eyes for half a second and groaned internally. She didn’t need to look. She knew.

  Still, ever the professional, she turned with a practiced smile stretched across her face, warm enough to be polite, cool enough to brace for impact.

  It was Evelyn Waters.

  There she stood, one perfectly manicured hand clutched a half-eaten cupcake like it was a murder weapon; the other perched indignantly on her hip. Her lipstick, a deep crimson that had somehow gotten smudged at both corners, looked like war paint. Her eyes, narrowed into dagger slits, locked onto Amelia with laser precision.

  Amelia felt a familiar prickle of tension rise along her spine. A perfect storm of entitlement, theatrics, and indignation had arrived. She took a calming breath through her nose.

  And so it begins.

  “Hi there,” Amelia said smoothly, her voice dipped in honey. “What seems to be the problem?”

  Evelyn held up the sad remains of her cupcake with a dramatic flourish, angling it toward the crowd like she was starring in Law & Order: Baked Goods Unit.

  “The problem,” she declared, her voice pitched to carry, “is that your so-called honey lavender lemon cupcake made me violently ill last night.” Evelyn’s eyes widened with performative suffering. “I was up all night with stomach cramps, and this morning, well, I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.”

  Amelia had heard every cupcake-related complaint imaginable. Too dry, too moist, not enough frosting, too much frosting, not pink enough, too pink. But a food poisoning claim? That was new. And serious.

  A quiet hush fell over the line behind Evelyn. The moment was a powder keg. Amelia knew one wrong move could make it explode.

  Beatrice, still gripping her piping bag, stiffened. Her hands remained frozen in mid-air, the swirl she’d been piping halfway between masterpiece and disaster. Her voice cut through the tension, low and clipped. “That’s strange. We use fresh ingredients, and none of our other customers have complained.”

  Her tone wasn’t defensive; it was factual, cool, and steady. The Beatrice equivalent of raising an eyebrow.

  Evelyn scoffed with dramatic flair, tossing her hair back like she was preparing for her close-up. “Well, I’m complaining!”

  Her voice rose just enough to bounce off the neighboring trucks, sharp and nasal. Amelia saw it happening in real time, the ripple of attention, customers turning their heads, subtle frowns forming as people exchanged puzzled glances.

  Amelia sighed inwardly. That’s what she wants, she thought. An audience.

  “And I want a full refund,” Evelyn continued, projecting like she was auditioning for dinner theater. Her chin lifted, her posture rigid with self-righteousness. “For this and every cupcake I bought last week. I won’t be silenced!”

  Lila, still a portrait of cool efficiency, let out a breath that was almost inaudible, but Amelia recognized it. It was the sound of a woman mentally canceling her afternoon yoga plans.

  “Evelyn,” Lila said carefully, in her most measured, customer-service voice, “if you got sick, are you sure it was from our cupcake? It could’ve been something else you ate.”

  Evelyn’s eyes flashed. “Are you accusing me of lying?”

  The indignation in her voice was so sharp it practically vibrated.

  Amelia stepped in before Lila could say more. She kept her tone professional, her face composed, but inside, she was counting to ten. Twice.