TODAY, WE ARE DELIGHTED TO WELCOME OUR GUEST AUTHOR, LUCINDA RACE, WHO IS SHARING CHAPTER ONE OF HER NOVEL, 'JUST DESSERTS AND MURDER' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
- May 10
- 10 min read
Chapter 1
I stood in the cool, hazy light at sunrise as I watched my dream turn to ash. Firefighters sprayed water on what remained of the Early Rise Bakery. The weak sun painted the horizon a shade of pink that should have inspired a sweet and creamy frosting; instead, a sour taste coated my mouth. ‘Up in smoke’ took on an unpleasant, new meaning.
“Temperance?”
I turned. My best friend, Josie Shaw, ran toward me, her arms outstretched. She wrapped me in a bear hug. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I wasn’t waking anyone in the wee hours of the morning to say my bakery was on fire. It was bad enough I got the call.”
She searched my face, but there were no tears; I had cried them out an hour ago. “Do they know what happened?”
Turning my back on the end of a brief career as a baker, I shook my head. “Not yet. I got here around five and have been watching them get the blaze under control. They’ll bring in an arson team to determine what caused the fire.” Disbelief washed over me. “I have a checklist which I follow at the end of each day, and I’ve replayed closing the shop yesterday afternoon a dozen times. I’m positive I didn’t leave any equipment on.”
Giving me a knowing smile, she looked over my shoulder. “Why are more cops arriving now?”
“They need a couple to stay with the fire department while they continue to wet it down, just in case there’s a spark.” But as Josie mentioned, several more officers were walking about, and it wasn’t time for a shift change.
A tall male officer strode across the street to join the fire chief and a policewoman. They gestured toward the smoldering remains of the building. It was light enough to see the newcomers nod, and they followed the chief to what had been the north side of the structure. Taking a step forward, with Josie beside me, I tracked their movements, wishing I could hear their conversation.
Leaning into me in a whisper, she asked, “What do you think that’s all about?”
“I don’t know, but it’s curious.”
They made their way to the back of the building, where an entrance used to be. The chief pointed to something on the ground. The female officer knelt closer. They must be talking; it was hard to see if their mouths were moving from this distance, but the nodding and hand gestures told an important story without words. Something was wrong.
“This isn’t good.”
I shook my head. “No, and I’d like to know what’s happening. I own the building. They should discuss whatever happened with me.”
As the words left my mouth, the fire chief pointed to me, and the policeman nodded. “And here we go.” I walked north and was going to skirt around the hoses on the ground when a fireman stopped me.
“It’s not safe here.”
I wish they wore name tags and not badge numbers. “That’s my building—what’s left of it—and I need to speak with the officers,” I said, gesturing to the group heading my way.
“Wait here.”
A man of few words.
Josie stood beside me as we waited. My mouth went dry as I observed their grim expressions.
When they reached me, the tall officer said, “Ms. Matthews, I’m Sergeant Franklin. This is your bakery, correct?” Fire Chief Wool and the female officer stood to one side without speaking.
“It was. Does anyone know what happened?” I looked to my friend, the fire chief, Erik Wool.
The Sergeant said, “That’s what I was going to ask you. Could you have left a burner on or another small appliance on, like a coffee maker?”
“The coffee pots are on timers and, if empty, shut off after thirty minutes. In addition, I use a checklist when I shut down every day. There’s no way I could have left anything on.”
He gave a brisk nod. “Do you have staff that comes in late at night to bake?”
“No. I arrive at five, and the two ladies who work for me arrive at six. We prepare most of the dough in the afternoon prior to closing.”
He said nothing in response.
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m sorry to inform you, we’ve discovered a body near the back entrance. It’s possible they were overcome by smoke while trying to get out and succumbed. We won’t know for sure until the autopsy results are in.”
“Sergeant, I locked the store at four o’clock when I left for the day. Nobody should have been in the bakery after that.” I pulled out my cell phone. “We can check my camera feeds.”
“I’ll need access to your footage.”
“Consider it done. If you can provide me with an email, I’ll send it over as soon as I’m home.”
He withdrew a card from his chest pocket. “You can email it here,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Ms. Matthews, I understand your former occupation was as an FBI analyst. Do us both a favor; don’t think you can analyze this information. We have experts in the department. Do I make myself clear?”
I shuffled a step back. “Crystal.”
The policewoman stepped forward as Sergeant Franklin gestured for Chief Wool to follow him. “I’m Officer Casey Butler. I want to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help.”
She said, “Let’s move out of the way.”
Josie and I followed her, glancing over my shoulder to see what else might be happening.
Once we were on the other side of the street on the grassy strip, Officer Butler stopped. She faced the building, and I stood next to her to see what was happening.
“Ms. Matthews, talk to me about yesterday. Were there any unhappy customers or anything out of the ordinary that occurred?”
“It was a typical Friday. We were hectic in the morning. Josie came in to lend a hand since Louise, who usually handles the counter, showed up late.”
“Is that unusual?”
“For Josie to lend a hand or Louise’s tardiness?”
“Both.”
“Yes. Josie’s filled in at the bakery as needed.”
“Her last name is, and who else works for you?”
Josie said, “My last name is Shaw. I live on Vine Street.”
The officer gave Josie an assessing look. “Thank you.”
“My employees, Louise Fletcher, she manages the front of house, and Gina Davis, who’s the pastry chef—bakes cakes, pies, and specialty items.”
Officer Butler nodded. “Have you had problems with either of these women?”
“No. They’ve worked for me since I opened the bakery eighteen months ago.”
“What did you do before moving to town?”
Well, at least she knew I was a recent transplant, and hadn’t she heard what the Sergeant said? “My Aunt Penny passed away a little over two years ago and left me her home. It’s the Victorian with the bright pink front door and shutters on Mahogany Street.”
“I know the place.”
“My previous job was stressful, and I needed a change. My dream had been to open a bakery, so I did. I relocated two years ago and bought the bakery. I have a lot of regular customers, and the business has been profitable.”
She shot me a sidelong glance as she scribbled a few notes. “What was your job before moving to Oak Hollow?”
My chin dipped. I always hated this part of the conversation since reactions ran the gamut. But I had to respect the officer’s questions. “I was an intelligence analyst.”
“For the FBI?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” She made another note. “Do you have any known enemies?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Anyone who might have been unhappy with your involvement in cases from your time with the bureau?”
“I was behind the scenes and never went into the field. To the world, I was anonymous.”
She gave me a piercing stare. Almost as if she didn’t believe me. “Were Louise or Gina having any problems with anyone at the bakery or outside of work?”
“I tried to keep things professional. We were friendly, but I didn’t know the intimate details of their life.” I glanced at the building again. “Do you suspect one of my employees is the victim?”
“What makes you think we found human remains?”
“Sergeant Franklin just said a body was discovered near the back entrance.” Was she trying to trip me up by dangling a cookie like I was a pup?
“Right.”
The way she elongated a single word was reminiscent of what an agent might do when processing information I had provided, even when it contradicted their expectations. Misleading the witness was a typical tactic and one I didn’t appreciate, especially in this situation.
“Do you have any idea who it might be?” I asked.
“Not yet. You’ll be informed as soon as we identify the body. However, it would be helpful to have the addresses for your employees.”
This was either for a wellness check or to question them. That was easy, I had nothing to hide. I pulled up my contacts in my cell phone and rattled off Louise and Gina’s contact information. “Will you need anything else?”
“Not now, except for your and Josie’s personal information.”
We both gave her the details. “Officer Butler, does the fire chief have a hypothesis about how the fire started?”
Her brow furrowed and her gaze darted to the ash pile. “They used an accelerant.”
“Arson?” I clutched Josie’s arm as my knees buckled. “Why would anyone want to burn down my bakery?”
“That question needs an answer, along with the victim’s name.” She snapped her notebook closed and handed me a card. “I’ll be in touch, or if you can think of anything else, call me.”
I looked around in stunned silence as the sun rays unveiled the total devastation of what had been my bakery. The structure’s cement corners and ghostly shape resembled images I’d seen on the news of fires. I never expected this to happen to me, but I suppose no one ever did.
“At least you have insurance. You can rebuild.” Josie wrapped a reassuring arm around my waist to hold me upright on noodle legs.
“True. But what about Louise and Gina? They’ve lost their jobs, and rebuilding will take months.”
“Look at the bright side—you didn’t like the layout anyway.”
I knew she was trying to be helpful, but it didn’t work. The sour taste in my mouth had traveled to my midsection. “My stomach feels like I’ve been riding an upside-down roller coaster for hours.”
“Let me take you home.”
I shook my head. “Not yet. A person died in there.” Now that the night shadows were gone, I looked up and down South Street. My breath caught, “Josie. Look.”
At the end of the street was a bright blue VW convertible. “That’s Louise’s car.” I grabbed her arm and called out for Officer Butler to wait.
She turned around before she reached her squad car. We ran over to her. “The victim might be Louise Fletcher.”
“What makes you think that?”
I pointed to the convertible at the corner of South and Mahogany Street. “That’s her car.”
“Thank you. I’ll check it out.” She strode across the street.
I looked at Josie, who nodded. We followed her a few steps behind.
“Ms. Matthews, keep your distance.”
Although the warning was implied, I still needed to know if the car belonged to Louise. “We won’t interfere. I want to help if I can.”
The officer attempted to open the car doors but found them locked. She peered inside, walked around to the back, and pressed the button on her walkie-talkie, reporting the license plate number for a check.
I said, “Louise always kept a spare key in a magnetic case under the back bumper.”
“How would you know that?”
“She was always locking herself out. I suggested that as an easy solution, so she did. It saved her from calling Triple A or her boyfriend to unlock the car.”
As Officer Butler examined the bumper, my fingers twitched to assist her. “It should be on the driver’s side.”
She patted under the bumper and withdrew a small metal box. “Is this it?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
She said, “Stay here and touch nothing,” before striding back to her sedan.
I took the opportunity to glance inside the car. On the back seat lay a duffle bag, a stack of paperback novels, a cooler, a pair of sneakers, flip-flops, hiking boots, and a pink baseball cap with the bakery’s name on the front.
Josie asked, “Is she going on vacation?”
“Not that I was aware of. She hadn’t asked for time off, but it looks as if she was ready to leave town.” I hurried around to the passenger side. Her cell phone was on the driver’s side floor. “This is really bad. Her phone is in there.”
Josie whistled softly, her face grim. “That was like another appendage for her.”
“I know.” Stepping back as Officer Butler approached pulling on blue latex gloves. She didn’t seem to notice that I had taken a cursory look.
“Stand back, please.” Coming around the front of the vehicle, she put the key in the door lock and, using a flashlight, scanned the interior before unlocking it. With the door opened, she checked the glove compartment and scanned a paper she withdrew, folded it up, and replaced it.
I didn’t need confirmation. “That’s Louise’s cell phone on the floor; she’d never leave it behind. It was a part of her.”
“Noted.” Her radio squawked. “Go ahead.”
“Butler, no one is home at the Fletcher residence. The door was locked, but we looked in the windows, and by the state of the bedroom, drawers were opened and closet doors wide; she may have left in a hurry.”
Butler turned her back and walked a few steps away. “Fletcher’s car is near the scene of the fire. I’ll get it towed, and we can examine it for evidence.”
“Copy that.”
She gave us a sharp look and said, “I hope you’re not trying to listen in on a police conversation.”
“Not at all, and we didn’t hear a thing.” I nodded to the fire. “This is overwhelming.”
Her face softened. “I’m sorry about your building. We will find who’s responsible.”
I swallowed hard. It was too bad Louise got caught up in whatever happened here. “I’m confident you will.”
Josie said, “It’s unfortunate that Louise may have been involved, whether as a victim or participant.”
Officer Butler gave her a stern look. “Do you have something to share, Ms. Shaw?
“Nope.”
“It’s just a logical observation.” I snapped my fingers. “Wait. She did argue with someone yesterday; it was before the lunch rush, and she took a call in the storage room.”
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Just Desserts & Murder, A Temperance Matthews Cozy Mystery Book 1
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AUTHOR BIO
Award-winning and best-selling author Lucinda Race is a lifelong fan of fiction who fell in love with cozy mysteries and romance novels as a young girl.
Though her writing journey began with nonfiction, her passion for storytelling never wavered. She returned to her true calling—creating the beloved McKenna Family Romance series and the Paranormal Cozy Nook Bookstore Series—writing the kinds of stories she loves to read. Whether she’s weaving a heartwarming romance or a cozy mystery, her fingers practically fly across the keyboard.
Lucinda lives in the rolling hills of western Massachusetts with her little dog— a shih tzu mix rescue—who is always by her side. When she’s not immersed in writing mystery, suspense, or romance, she’s wandering in her garden or curled up with a book, devouring everything she can get her hands on.
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COMING SOON: On Monday, 11th May,
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