Sprinkle with Murder (Cupcake Bakery Mystery #1)

by Jenn McKinlay

“You’d think if she was so worried about our shop stealing her customers, she’d be slaving away in her kitchen baking something.”

“Well, Tatums did say we were paying you, although I can’t imagine why, since he’s your boss,” Christie said. “And since we’re paying you, I think we should own what we pay for, don’t you?”

Wow

“Because two weeks ago, you locked us in the walk-in cooler in the bakery, and we almost froze to death because you thought a near-death experience might bring us to our senses about our feelings for each other. Or does that little episode not ring a bell?” “I should have left you in for five more minutes.”

she had spent the day racking her brain, trying to come up with cupcake flavors that had never been done before. Christie wanted her to have samples ready tomorrow.

I can't believe she's going to do it

“But I’m partial to the blonde bombshell.” Joe raised his eyebrows, and his gaze swept her from head to toe. Mel felt her cheeks grow hot. Oh, dear, he didn’t think, surely he couldn’t think, that it was named for her.

“You can stop calling my fiancé to complain about me.” It was Christie, and she sounded annoyed.

“Look, I have a real business with real problems to deal with. Someone will be by to pick up the damn cupcakes. In the future, I would appreciate it if you would call me, and not Tate.” “Check your cell phone,” Mel said. “I did call—repeatedly.” “I don’t think I like your tone,” Christie said. “I don’t care how long you’ve been friends with Tate. I’m the one who’s marrying him. It’s not my fault you couldn’t close the deal all of these years you’ve been palling around with him.” “What?” Mel choked. “You heard me.” Christie’s voice was a low hiss. “I know both you and your little friend have been trying to bag Tate for years. Well, you couldn’t, and I did. Deal with it.” Christie hung up on her, and Mel felt her temper surge and explode.

He shifted his feet, and Angie grabbed Mel’s arm and yanked her to the floor behind the king-sized bed in the center of the room. They crept under the bed—no dust bunnies there—and out the other side, where they hugged the wall until they were close enough to hear his side of the conversation.

“Get out,” she snapped. If he thought this badly of her, then she didn’t want him around, no matter how much she liked him.

“Maybe,” Angie replied. “I suppose it depends on what kind of boss she was.” “I wonder if I could ask Alma,” Mel said. “Or maybe Phoebe; she worshipped Christie.” “There’s an accurate account,” Angie’s sarcasm was thicker than cream cheese frosting, but Mel ignored her.

Mel used Google to search “Christie Stevens Designs,” making sure to put the words in quotation marks so the search engine would follow the exact word string.

I'd forgotten about that

Of course, there was no reason she couldn’t take her trash out and see who might be loitering on the street. Just to reassure herself, of course.

Oh geez

It had to be done; otherwise she’d never sleep tonight.

Buf what if you get put into an endless sleep instead!?

She looped her hand around Joe’s elbow as if she needed him for balance, but Mel suspected it was really more a possession is nine-tenths of the law sort of thing. Mel knew that move. She’d used it herself.

“Mel, this is Susan Ross. She’s a colleague of mine,” Joe said. The lovely brunette tossed her hair over her shoulder and gazed up at Joe. She gushed, “Oh, we’re more than that, aren’t we, Joe?”

Ooof

Joe smiled down at her, and the brunette snuggled back up against him. Mel wished she had a bowl of buttercream frosting and a spatula handy.

“Mom, Johnny Dietz is a tax attorney.” “Your father used him for years,” Joyce said. “Our taxes were always perfect, never any audits, not one.” Mel had to look down at the table to keep from laughing. She supposed it was probably hysterics, but still, the thought of Johnny Dietz, in all his round and bald glory, going nose to nose with Joe DeLaura gave her a severe case of the giggles.

“Hardly. Christie had an obsessive need to own everything. It was almost pathologic, like she was afraid some crumb of fame might pass her by if she didn’t get full credit for every single aspect of her life.”