Cupcakes & Corpses

  Cupcakes and Corpses Copy

  Marcall's Breakfast Cafe Paranormal Cozy Mystery

  B I Skinner

  Contents

  1. Chapter 1

  2. Chapter 2

  3. Chapter 3

  4. Chapter 4

  5. Chapter 5

  6. Chapter 6

  7. Chapter 7

  8. Chapter 8

  9. Chapter 9

  10. Chapter 10

  11. Chapter 11

  12. Chapter 12

  13. Chapter 13

  14. Chapter 14

  15. Chapter 15

  16. Chapter 16

  17. Chapter 17

  18. Chapter 18

  19. Chapter 19

  20. Chapter 20

  21. Chapter 21

  22. Chapter 22

  Thank You!

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  “Oh yeah? Well, I wish you were dead!” Shauna Davis, the stepdaughter of Morley Haynes, the town mortician, shouts in her stepfather’s face before turning on her heel and fleeing the Hotel Glacier. But not before nearly running me over.

  The entire ballroom falls silent as her words echo off the tin ceiling tiles. Every head turns to stare at Morley, wondering what all the commotion is about. Morley, red-faced, pivots in the opposite direction, heading back to his seat in the ballroom at the annual Halloween Festival.

  The festival is Crested Peaks biggest party of the year. And from the size of the crowd, it looks like nearly every person in town is here, plus the tourists who show up hoping to interact with all the ghosts.

  “What the heck was that all about?” I ask as I approach our table.

  “I have no idea!” Miranda, my best friend and witching mentor responds. “And I’m guessing I don’t even want to know. But nice of you to finally show up.”

  “I know, I know, sorry I’m late,” I apologize as I give my boyfriend Detective Drew Bailey a quick kiss before sitting down. “But I knew if I didn’t take the boys trick or treating, I’d never have a moment’s peace again.”

  “I can’t even begin to picture how you take two rabbits and a cat trick or treating,” Miles, Miranda’s boyfriend, says, shaking his head in wonder.

  “I put them in the wagon and then we walked around the neighborhood while they begged for treats. You should have seen the look on people’s faces when I asked for parsley and bites of chicken.

  “I still haven’t decided if I should laugh about it or be embarrassed. I’m sure people think I just have overly spoiled pets. It’s not like I want to explain to them that my pets are para-pets who can talk and like to demand things.”

  Miles breaks in. “You could tell them they talk. It’s not like people in Crested Peaks aren’t aware of all the paranormal activity. Plus, everyone knows that you’re a witch.”

  I nod my head. “I know that a lot of us have familiars, but it’s still rather unusual to have familiars that actually talk to their person. And I worry that if too many people knew they talked to me, it would just become a spectacle, and goodness knows I don’t need any more of that.”

  After I came back to Crested Peaks, just over a year ago, to take over Marcall’s Breakfast Cafe from my Gran, the two rabbits, their cat friend, and I discovered four bodies. I know how people like to talk in this small mountain town, and I’m not giving them additional fodder.

  “If people knew that the rabbits and the cat helped you gather clues, they may not be as open to talking in front of them, right?” Drew points out, his tone dripping with sarcasm. It frustrates him to no end that I always seem to find myself in the middle of solving crimes. I maintain that I can’t help it. They seem to just land on my doorstep.

  “I told you, I am done with that! No more crime-solving. I’m just a simple cafe owner who’s minding her own business. Besides, how many bodies can my para-pets find?”

  “I can’t believe you just said that out loud!” Damien, my brilliant chef, exclaims. He grabs the salt shaker on the table, shakes some into his hand, curses in Spanish, and tosses it over his left shoulder.

  “Superstitious much?” I ask.

  He throws his hands up to indicate how we’re surrounded by ghosts, wizards, witches, and a whole other host of paranormal beings. Crested Peaks is known for its widespread paranormal activity. Supernaturals and Non Supernaturals live together like anybody else in any other small town.

  Right on cue, Harvey, one of Crested Peaks more famous ghosts, appears at our table. “Good evening, my friends!”

  “Hi Harvey!” we all exclaim.

  ”Aside from the ridiculously public display of family discourse we were forced to witness earlier,” he whispers, nodding his luminescent head toward Morley, “how is everyone’s evening? I take it you’re enjoying yourselves on this most festive occasion?”

  Harvey managed the Hotel Glacier when it first opened in the late 1800s. It was one of the most opulent hotels of its time. The building materials and fixtures had to be pulled over unyielding mountain terrain using horse-drawn covered wagons. Many of the original designs remain, such as the tin ceiling tiles in the ballroom.

  Harvey was killed in a shootout between the sheriff and a bank robber. He claims he was too busy with managing the hotel to bother moving on to the next world for his afterlife, so he just stuck around instead. He’s helped me, I mean the Crested Peaks Police Department, solve some crimes. Like the para-pets, people often speak freely in a ghost’s presence, because they’re assuming they aren’t repeating anything.

  “Do you happen to know what Morley and his stepdaughter were fighting about Harvey?” Miranda asks.

  “I can’t say that I’m privy to the details, but she’s not the first person I saw him argue with this evening.” He grimaces he finds all of this so distasteful. “One would think he could set his issues aside on such a joyous holiday.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Halloween is a big deal in Crested Peaks. Especially among the Supernaturals. Don’t get me wrong, we just enjoy our holidays in general - any excuse to throw a party - but we pull out all the stops for Halloween.

  “Who else was he arguing with this evening?” I ask him right before I take a bite of the fabulous cupcake in front of me. Chloe, our friend from high school, landed a big score when the hotel asked her to provide cupcakes from her food truck, Chloe’s Cupcakes.

  “Oddly enough,” Harvey responds, pointing to the cupcakes in front of us, “it was Miss Chloe herself.”

  “No way. What happened?” Damien asks as he shovels a second cupcake in his mouth. They’re just that good. Chloe is a witch, but her cupcakes recipes are all pure non-magical baking. Although, they’re so amazing that I’d swear they really are magical. The decorations, on the other hand, are usually enhanced with some witchcraft.

  The cupcakes that Miles brought to the 4th of July picnic had enchanted stars that blinked and shone. Tonight’s cupcakes are red velvet, and the decorations include a flying miniature witch, with a black cat riding on the back of her broom that waves at me.

  Her red velvet cupcakes are one of my favorite recipes. I’m not entirely sure what the secret ingredient is that makes it so unique. I certainly have my ideas, but I’m keeping them to myself. Whatever it is, it’s delicious.

  Harvey sighs. “Our disagreeable friend—” at the word disagreeable, Morley just happens to guffaw at a joke someone is telling at his table. He pounds on the table, taking another swig of bourbon. When he tries to light a cigar, one of the wait staff dashes over to remind him he can’t smoke inside the hotel.

  ”As I was saying,” Harvey continues to shoot a disgusted look Morley’s way, “the mortician couldn’t help but goad our lovely Miss Chloe over her new profession. He insisted on reminding
her what a horrible beautician she was when she worked for him. He’s a most unpleasant fellow all around. I don’t know a soul, living or unliving, who likes him.”

  “Did you know Chloe was a beautician for a mortuary?” Damien’s husband, Tom, turns to him in surprise.

  “Of course I knew that! You didn’t?”

  “I never knew there was such a thing in the first place!” Tom exclaims, looking a little green around the gills at the thought.

  “Of course there is. How else do you think they make the bodies look so, uh, well, ‘natural,’” Damien responds with air quotes.

  Harvey keeps going. “Mr. Haynes abused that poor girl to the point she couldn’t take it anymore. She quit and took it upon herself to start a business. I daresay she’s doing an even better job as a cupcake baker than she did in the mortuary. Not that she didn’t do a tremendous job there. I’ve heard from many of the unliving that they wholeheartedly approved of how she made adjustments to their corpses before being revealed to loved ones.”

  Miles raises his eyebrows like he can’t believe Harvey just said the word “corpses“ over dessert.

  “In fact, there was one fella whose head was squashed like a cante—”

  “Harvey!” Miranda cuts him off.

  “I apologize if I’ve offended anyone’s senses, Miss Miranda. I was simply going to point out that when that poor man was crushed by a boulder while hiking—”

  “—okay, Harvey, we appreciate your dedication to details, but I don’t think Miles can handle your honesty.”

  “I’ve overstepped. I would never wish to offend a guest. I’ll take my leave now.” Harvey says, bowing at us as he drifts away.

  “You okay there, big guy?” Miranda teases Miles while patting him on the back.

  “I’ll live,” he whispers, hastily digging into another cupcake.

  “I guess Morley is in rare form tonight,” Drew points out. “When I came in, he was fighting with Ethan Davis too. Then he shouted ‘you’re fired’.”

  “What did Ethan do then?” Miranda asks.

  “He ran out the hotel.”

  ”Is there anyone he didn’t fight with tonight?” I openly ponder.

  “Harvey was right, though,” Damien responds. “I don’t know anyone who likes him, either. He’s a jerk.”

  Almost as if on cue, Morley stands up at his table. Everyone pauses and stares like they’re waiting to see what he’ll do next. However, when he clutches his chest, gasping for air, I don’t think any of us expect that.

  Several people cry out as he pitches forward, grabbing the tablecloth in his meaty fist, sending plates and silverware flying. Then he flings himself backward and collapses, knocking several chairs askew on his way down. The commotion creates near pandemonium in the ballroom as guests cry out in shock and rush toward the table to get a closer look.

  ”Is there a doctor in the house?” Harvey shouts as he races over everyone’s heads to hover over Morley.

  Another ghost, who also lives in the hotel, floats over to Morley and hovers for a moment. But lacking the gentlemanly fortitude of Harvey, declares with a shout, “He’s dead!”

  Drew gasps and quickly dials 911 on his phone anyway to request an ambulance.

  Cries of shock and dismay punctuate the previously festive atmosphere of the ballroom, as party goers try to decide if they should move in closer for a better look, or leave as quickly as possible.

  I’m horrified when I remember it was just months ago, at another festival, that the rabbits led me to a body. Now we seem to have another one. I’m grateful that this one isn’t murder, at least. It’s too bad that Morley just died like that. However, I assume from the way he was clutching his chest, and what appears to be an unhealthy lifestyle, he’s had a heart attack.

  Drew looks at me with dismay, like he can’t believe this is happening again, either.

  “At least my familiars didn’t find the body this time, right?”

  Instead of responding, he shakes his head like he can’t believe I just said that out loud.

  At least Miranda laughs at my inappropriate joke like every best friend should.

  “Too soon?” I ask.

  Chapter 2

  There’s a drawback to celebrating late into the evening, especially one that involves a lot of drama. Damien and I are dragging this morning when we arrive at Marcall’s at o’dark thirty, as my Gran used to call it.

  “Whose idea was it to work in a breakfast cafe?” Damien asks with an enormous yawn as he prepares our coffee.

  “Pretty sure you started it.” I glare at him through blurry, sleep-deprived eyes.

  “But you own the place, so I think you should take responsibility.”

  Meanwhile, my rabbit familiars, Marshall and Marcus, scurry around at my feet, reminding me how fun trick or treating is for the dozenth time. They want to know if we can do it again tonight.

  “Trick or treat is only once a year,” I scold them as they pout and stomp their little feet. I’m not sure which is worse. The disagreeable looks they’re always giving me or the foot-stomping when they don’t get their way.

  My grandma always claimed to have won them in a poker game decades ago. Then she named her cafe after them. They don’t do magic, thank goodness, or we’d all be in trouble.

  But considering your average house rabbit lives about ten years and doesn’t talk, we’re convinced Gran must have used some kind of magic on them. Either that or they truly came that way, and their previous person only pretended to lose the game, realizing it would be simpler to make them someone else’s responsibility.

  When Gran was alive, she was the only one they could talk to. But when she passed away, somehow that ability transferred to me. They only weigh about four pounds apiece, but amazingly, they travel all over town begging treats from the shop owners.

  “Why are you mad about trick or treating? You hop all over town as it is begging for vegetables and flowers almost every day.”

  “It was extra fun to go in the wagon last night,” Marcus explains, wiggling his crooked ears at me.

  “Yeah!” Marshall chimes in. “If you could pull us around in the wagon all the time, we would really appreciate that.”

  I sigh and look at Damien like I can’t believe the plans these two come up with sometimes. “What are they hatching now?” he asks, peering over the countertop at them, looking a little leery. Damien is used to living with Supernaturals, but something about talking rabbits makes him nervous. He was relieved when the rabbits said his dog, whose name is Bubbles, doesn’t talk.

  “I’m not pulling you around town in the wagon just so it’s easier for you to beg treats!” I tell them.

  “Fine!” Marshall grumbles as the two of them head back into my office, where Stumpy, the cat, is undoubtedly sleeping. He doesn’t appreciate the early cafe hours either.

  Their best friend, Stumpy, used to live next door at the Italian restaurant. But after the restaurant owner was stabbed to death, the restaurant’s new owner kicked him out. Marcus and Marshall then invited him to live with us. Without asking me, of course.

  “Did you forget to unlock the front door again?” Damien asks when we hear someone knocking.

  “I did,” I groan. I concentrate on the lock, because I’m too tired to walk over there, and it pops open.

  “Good morning, everyone!” Gladys calls out to us. Gladys, the provider of our unending supply of town gossip, is here on the dot as usual for her 6:30 AM vegan breakfast burrito and coffee.

  I’m almost afraid to go out front and tell her it will be another 30 seconds because we’re running just a tiny bit behind.

  “Good morning to you, Gladys!” I tell her as I enter the dining area carrying a stack of clean plates.

  Her mouth drops open in surprise. “Where’s my burrito?” she asks.

  “Damien and I are a little slow on the uptake this morning, so it will be—”

  “Here it is, Gladys!” Damien announces as he bursts through the kitche
n door with her burrito.

  Thank goodness, I mumble to myself. I don’t know how Gladys would react if she had to wait for more than a moment for her burrito. She schedules her entire day down to the minute, and any unexpected detour from that schedule makes her nervous.

  “Party a little too hard last night?” she asks Damien, raising an eyebrow his way.

  “It was quite the evening, wasn’t it?” he grimaces.

  “I’m guessing you have the latest on Morley Haynes?” I prompt.

  She snaps her gloves into her matching purse as Damien places the burrito and coffee in front of her. “You know it’s odd, but I don’t really have anything more than you probably already know, since you were there last night.”

  “What?” I ask, feigning horror that she doesn’t have all the dirt already. Gladys prides herself on her ability to sniff out the latest happenings in our town. And like Harvey at the hotel, and my familiars, she too has helped me, of course I mean the CPPD, solve several crimes.

  “Everyone seems extra tight-lipped about Hayne’s death. I’m not even getting anything from my sources at the hospital.”

  “Do they really not know, or are they just not telling you?” I ask as I hand a newcomer our menu for the day.

  Gladys slowly shakes her head. “I don’t know for sure, I just know that for now, Morley dropped dead at the Halloween Festival and, like everybody else, I’m assuming some kind of heart attack.”

  After Gladys leaves, the cafe is somewhat quiet all morning. It’s the lull before the Crested Peaks Ski Resort opens next week, where we’ll be busy with ski traffic and tourists until Memorial Day Weekend.

  Thankfully, I hired additional help over the summer. A young woman named Aranya, whose parents own the Thai One On food truck. She’s a culinary student at Colorado Mountain College, and has a test this morning, so she won’t be in until later.

  The customers we do have this morning are abuzz about what happened last night at the hotel. I’m still relieved I didn’t stumble across any new bodies myself last night. Considering I was barely back in town a month before I found two of them.