Macarons and Murder

  A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 8

  Rosie A. Point

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  More for you…

  Thank you, Reader!

  Also by Rosie A. Point

  Copyright Rosie A. Point 2020.

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  Created with Vellum

  1

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” I peered at the tall trees surrounding us and the dirt road ahead, my hands on the food truck’s steering wheel. “I don’t see any signs.”

  “That’s what the GPS says,” Bee replied, tapping on its screen. “See? Right there. It says, ‘Tomahawk Trail Campground.’ It’s meant to be right down this road.”

  I kept the truck’s engine running but didn’t inch it forward onto the road. It was a sunny spring day and we’d decided it was time to take a week off from selling our delicious baked goods in Muffin. We were officially on vacation—we’d bought our tents and supplies, found an old bookstore and stocked up our favorite novels. Except we weren’t on vacation until we found the campground, and call me a skeptic, but I wasn’t about to drive down a beaten trail in the woods… it sounded like the beginning to a horror movie. Or a true crime documentary.

  “I promise you, it’s down here,” Bee said. “No, that’s a lie, the GPS promises you.”

  I eyed the GPS. I wasn’t the best with technology, but I did trust Bee. Besides, my bestie was an ex-cop. If anyone gave us trouble, she’d kick some criminal rear-end.

  “If the GPS says it, it must be true.” I started the engine again and we trundled down the dirt path, the truck squeaking and bouncing. The forest was gorgeous—my anxiety waned thanks to the leafy green canopy and the shimmer of sunlight from the cloudless sky beyond it.

  A few curves in the road later and the entrance to the campground appeared, the wooden sign above it proudly announcing: Tomahawk Trail Campground. The sign had seen better days—it was weathered, and one side had dropped over the gates, which were open.

  “Ha!” Bee clapped her hands. “We found it.”

  “Or did it find us?” I muttered, still creeped out by the forest. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “This is exactly why we need a break. It’s all the murder that’s been going on. Murder in Maine, Murder in Massachusetts…”

  “Murder at Tomahawk Trail Campgrounds?” I grimaced as we cruised over the threshold and came to a halt in the parking lot in front of the office—a log-cabin styled building with a wraparound porch and a screen door.

  “Let’s hope not. Ruby, I’m sure everything will be fine. Remember this is a break from everything, that includes baking and highly illegal mystery investigations on our part. It’s meant to be relaxing. We’ll have fun and read, make some macarons and—”

  “Hey!” A giant of a man charged down the office’s steps toward us, sun gleaming on his bald head and catching on the thick gold chain hanging around his neck. He wore sweatpants and a stained vest. “Hey you!”

  I rolled down my window, too shocked by the ‘welcome’ to check Bee’s reaction. “Hello,” I said. “How are—?”

  “What are you doing here?” the man spat.

  “Camping for all intents and purposes,” Bee said. “Or having an argument, depending on how this conversation goes.”

  “No, no, no,” the guy replied, wiping sweat off his upper lip and pointing a finger at her. “I know what your type is like.”

  “What type is that?” My hackles rose.

  “The type who says they’ve come to stay but really, you’re here to bother my guests and try to sell them things. I’ve had enough of people like you so you can just—”

  The screen door opened, and a woman stepped out of the offices. She was the polar opposite of the aggressive dude—she had a head full of chestnut brown hair, wore a neat pair of jeans and a flowery blouse, and even offered an apologetic smile as she jogged down the stairs to join the fray.

  “Van,” she said.

  “No, it’s a truck,” I replied. “A food truck. And we weren’t going to sell anything.”

  “No.” The woman shook her head and pointed at the guy. “Van.”

  “Van?”

  “Van,” she repeated and tugged on the man’s arm. “Van, stop it. Leave them alone.”

  “Get off me, Charlene.” Van pulled himself free of her. “I’m not going to have another group of sleazebags take advantage of my hospitality.”

  “We’re not sleazebags,” I said. “We don’t want to sell anything. We just want some time off.”

  Bee looked about ready to punch the guy.

  “I’m so sorry about this, ladies,” Charlene said. “We’ve had some trouble with scammers in the past few months. It’s a touchy subject. Could you give us a few moments please?” She drew Van back up the steps.

  They argued with each other right there in front of us, Charlene pleading and Van red in the face.

  “What a disaster,” I said. “The minute we arrive we’re already unwanted.” The little knot of insecurity inside me—it had been there ever since my fiancé had left me—threatened to unravel.

  “Don’t take what that idiot has to say seriously. He’s clearly unhinged. The man’s wearing sweatpants and a gold chain, for heaven’s sake.”

  That brought a tiny smile out of me. “Still, that’s not the reception I expected. This place had good reviews.”

  Bee nodded. “Oh, here she comes.”

  Charlene had separated from the angry vest-wearing Van. She approached with a sheepish grin. “I’m so, so sorry about that,” she said. “He’s in a bad mood.” She forced a laugh, but there was a flash of something in her eyes. What was it? Anxiety? “Anyway, I’ve explained to him that you’re just here to check in.”

  “Who is he?” Bee asked. “And who are you?”

  “His name is Van Reed, and he’s the owner of the campgrounds,” she said. “I’m his wife, Charlene.”

  “Oh.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, belatedly.

  “And you.” She flicked her hair back, her smile more confident now. She had a lot of laugh lines. I liked that in a person. “Once again, my sincerest apologies. Van likes everything to go smoothly around here. But now that that’s out of the way, I can check you in! Did you book a lot?”

  “No,” Bee said.

  “Oh well, you’re very lucky indeed,” Charlene laughed. “We just so happen to have two spots open at the moment.”

  “Yes, we do feel lucky.” Bee’s dry tone wasn’t lost on Charlene. The hostess shifted on the spot.

  “Well, look, I don’t know if you planned on selling any of your food here but if you want to bake, you’re more than welcome to,” Charlene continued, casting a nervous glance at the office. “Just as long as you don’t sell. You know?”

  “Sure.” Honestly, I just wanted the conversation to be over already. We’d come to relax, not to be given the third degree by a man with an inordinate amount of chest hair.

  “You stay here, and I’ll be right back with all the forms and details you’ll need for your stay.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  Charlene was already halfway up the stairs.

  Bee sighed. “Well, that was eventful.”

  “Not the warm welcome I expected after reading those rave reviews.”

  “And I thought we were only staying in one forest,” Bee said.

  I gave her a blank look.

  “You didn’t notice Van’s chest hair?”

  “Oh!”

  “Goodness,” Bee said, flashing me her gap-toothed smile. “I have to work on my jokes.”

  “Well, you’ll have plenty of time while we’re here.” My gaze lifted to the oak cabin and the sign that read ‘Office’ attached to its roof. “Assuming we don’t get thrown out within the first couple of hours.”

  2

  “You’re really good at this.” I swiped sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. The lot we’d been given sat between trees—the area sparser than the forest behind it—and sunlight streamed down on our parked food truck and the tent Bee had just finished setting up.

  “When I was a little girl, my father would take us camping every summer. He taught me how to set up tents and make a fire and find water. Survival stuff,” Bee said.

  “Like Bear Grylls?”

  “Kind of,” Bee replied. “But with less filtering water through a sock to make it drinkable.”

  I pulled a face. “I’ll pass on that. Good thing this place has amenities.”

  “Speaking of which, let’s take a look at that map.”

  Charlene had given it to us after we’d checked in. I flapped it open. “Let’s see what we have he
re.” Cutesy icons stood out on the glossy green background of the map. A river ran along the right border of the campgrounds, and the restaurant was situated next to a lake further down the long trail that wound between the lots.

  Each lot was decorated with a sign bearing its number, and the one across from ours held a fancy camper, sleek and glistening black.

  “They have a restaurant at least,” Bee said. “And an events hall—see?”

  “Right next to the offices.”

  “Not that we’ll be going back there any time soon. Imagine running into that egomaniac again. I’m surprised he hasn’t come storming down the road to harass us.”

  I tucked the map away. Our two-man tent would fit both Bee and me, but I couldn’t say I was particularly excited to be roughing out in the wilderness. It would be different, though. An adventure with new people to meet. Besides, there were bathrooms with toilets and showers. Bee was so excited about this too, I wouldn’t ruin it for her because I was less than thrilled to sleep on the ground.

  “All right,” Bee said. “I’m going to unpack our sleeping bags, and, after that, we can go for a walk. Discover some of the wilderness out here.”

  “And then we can make some macarons!”

  “Exactly.”

  Bee was the one who loved baking, but I’d started enjoying it too. It had become a comfort zone—when in doubt, we baked. That or we snooped around and tried to solve murder cases.

  When I’d first started out as an investigative journalist, I’d longed for adventure and excitement. I’d particularly enjoyed digging for the truth and that hadn’t gone away—people were incurably interesting.

  “Are you ready to go?” Bee emerged from the tent. “Let’s check this place out.”

  “Which way should we go?” I eyed the road that led between the lots and likely ended in the restaurant. My stomach grumbled.

  “I’m thinking through here.” Bee pointed toward a trail that swept into the forest. It was wide enough for the both of us to walk side-by-side. “We can check out the restaurant afterward. What do you say?”

  “Sounds fun.” I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. It did sound fun. Besides, we had an entire map of the campgrounds. It wasn’t like we could get lost.

  Bee and I took to the path and entered the forest. The deeper we got into the trees, the closer the trunks became and the smaller the trail. There was less light, and the distant sound of rushing water filtered through the peaceful quiet.

  Soon, we came to a clearing that brimmed with light and warmth.

  “This would make the perfect picnic spot!” I spread my arms. The walk had been leisurely, and a cool breeze swept through the trees. “Bee, we should totally make some macarons and—”

  A Labrador dashed into the clearing, barking wildly. It ran a circle around Bee and then one around me before coming to a halt in front of us, wagging its tail. It barked three more times and hopped up onto its hind legs before settling. A blue collar was tucked against its fur, the label on it clicking wildly.

  “Hello,” I said, and ruffled its fluffy ears. “What are you doing here?”

  “It must belong to one of the folks staying in the campgrounds.”

  “But who?” The dog licked my hands as I reached for its collar. “Buddy,” I said. “You’re a boy. Hello, Buddy, what are you doing out here?” I went to stroke him again, but he bounced backward before I could, lowering his fluffy chest to the ground, his doggy tail wagging on repeat.

  “I think he wants to play,” Bee said.

  “But he can’t be out here alone, can he?” I looked around.

  “He’s not wearing a lead.”

  “How strange.”

  Buddy barked two more times and hopped backward again. He turned and trotted off to the other side of the clearing in the woods.

  “I think he wants us to follow him,” Bee said, setting off.

  I opened my mouth to warn against it, but there wasn’t any harm in a bit of extra walking—empty belly or not. I followed Bee and Buddy into the other side of the woods and onto… not a trail. The doggo barked and tail-wagged, padding on ahead of us. The further we walked, the louder the sound of the river became, until, finally, we came out on a riverbank.

  “It’s much wider than it looks on the map,” I said, over the rush of water.

  The river ran fast and clear over rocks, and though it was relatively shallow, I could imagine the current would easily sweep the feet out from underneath anyone trying to cross.

  “Ruby, look there.”

  Bee had spotted a small log cabin with a wraparound porch and a swinging seat that had long since lost its cushions. The door was shut tight, but one of the front windows was broken in.

  “Weird,” I said. “That’s definitely not on the map.” I tugged it out of my pocket and opened it up, flattening the creases with my fingertips. I tapped on the river, but there was no cheerful sign for a cabin anywhere near it.

  “It looks abandoned,” Bee said, and promptly climbed the front steps with Buddy the lost dog in tow. She peered into the window, cupping her hands either side of her face. “Nope, not abandoned. Someone’s definitely living here.”

  A high-pitched whistle sounded in the woods and Buddy let out a terrific bark, sending Bee back from the window, her hand flying to her chest. “Good heavens, was that necessary? You scared the donuts out of me.”

  But Buddy didn’t offer a wag-tail apology. He leaped down the front steps and barreled off into the woods again. Bad news for us, since he was the one who’d led us out here and I wasn’t sure which way would take us back.

  “Buddy!” I called. “Buddy, come back.” I waved the map—it didn’t show the trail through the forest. “Bee, let’s go. I don’t like this.”

  “What, the creepy abandoned log cabin in the woods? Why not?”

  “Funny.” I chased after Buddy, and Bee joined me a moment later. “Buddy!” I called again, and a distant bark answered.

  Surely it couldn’t be that difficult to find our way back to our lot?

  3

  “Buddy,” I yelled.

  “You’re going to make yourself hoarse,” Bee said, squeezing my arm. “Don’t worry, Rubes, we’ll find our tent. It’s a campground not a jungle.”

  Maybe she was right but getting lost was one of my worst fears—funny since I wanted nothing more than to hide from everyone who’d been a part of my old life. Perspiration gathered on the back of my neck, but a breeze cooled it.

  “I really thought this break would relax you,” Bee continued, taking the lead through the trees. She was admirable, whacking leaves out of the way, stepping over tree roots effortlessly. I kept stumbling over small rocks.

  “It will relax me once we find our way back to the trail. If I could—oh!” We had come out of the forest—somehow missed the clearing halfway to the camp—and were on the long road that wound through the campgrounds.

  Bee nudged me. “See? I told you.”

  “Good,” I said. “Because I’m starving.” I fumbled my now grubby map out of my pocket. “All right, what’s the closest lot to us?”

  “Number 20 is between the trees over there.” Bee gestured to a camper parked to our left. “And our lot is number 15.”

  “Oh, we’re close! It’s that way.” I gestured to the right.

  “Let’s grab some water from the truck then walk up to the restaurant. I think you’ve had enough adventure for one day. We’ll try cooking over a fire tomorrow night.”

  “OK.” I was privately relieved. I wasn’t ready to tackle cooking over an open flame.

  We arrived at the food truck in no time, only to find Buddy sitting outside the shining black camper across from it. A wire-thin man, wearing a set of glasses and a stubbly gray beard, sat in a camping chair in front of it, the firepit in his lot already crackling hot.