Decadent Demise

  Decadent Demise

  Spirited Sweets Book 2

  Stephanie Damore

  Pink Sapphire Press

  Copyright © 2018 by Stephanie Damore

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Also by Stephanie Damore

  About the Author

  1

  Thanksgiving week. Everyone knows it’s the day after the holiday that’s crazy for Christmas shoppers, but for us bakers, it's the days leading up to the holiday that are crazy—which is why I did not need Milo, my affectionate feline, meowing at me from the bakery's kitchen while I had a packed house. First off, he knew he wasn't allowed down here. The stairway leading up to our apartment? Fine. But not the actual bakery itself. We could get in big trouble having an animal, domestic or not, in our kitchen. With a line of customers extending out the door and just Ellen and I working like usual, I couldn't very well leave the counter and see what my kitty-cat wanted.

  I caught Ellen's eye and saw nothing but exhaustion under that warm smile of hers. Bless Ellen. She was like a mother to me. She would never complain, but as her boss, I needed to make sure she got the downtime she deserved. That we both deserved.

  Milo snuck over to me while I took Betty Jones’s order. Betty was one of our county's emergency dispatchers and my mom's close friend. Milo headbutted my leg and nibbled at my jeans while I did my best to ignore him.

  "That was a large coffee and the banana bread?" I asked Betty.

  "Yes, it's been spot on lately. I just love a good, moist banana bread."

  "Don't we all," I responded.

  "Um, babe?" Nick, my dearly departed husband and resident ghost, whispered in my ear. I hadn't even seen him materialize, but now wasn't the time.

  "Not right now, dear." I slipped up and said it out loud.

  "What was that?" Betty asked me.

  I had been putting Betty's cash in the register. I looked up, "Oh, nothing. Let me get that for you."

  Betty looked at little concerned but kept her mouth shut. I looked down at Milo and tried to say shoo! with my eyes. Milo responded with the loudest, most alarming meow the little brown tabby could muster.

  That's when the smoke alarm went off.

  The packed bakery looked around for the source of the alarm as I raced around to the back kitchen. Tendrils of smoke were curling out of the oven, no doubt coming from the pecan pies I had put inside not more than twenty minutes ago. I opened the oven and looked inside. The pies had bubbled over, burning the bottom of the oven and causing the smoke to rise.

  Ellen raced to the back and joined me with the fire extinguisher. I went to put my hand up to say, "Stop, it's not that bad," but Ellen was trigger happy and doused the oven in white foam.

  I don't know if you've ever been around a discharged fire extinguisher, but once that foam hits the air—WHOOSH—all the surrounding oxygen goes right along with it.

  Milo bolted up the back stairs and disappeared into our apartment while I threw open the bakery's back door to let in some fresh air.

  "Everything okay?" Betty Jones hollered back to us.

  "Yeah," I shouted after I caught my breath. "Just a couple of burnt pies." I eyed Ellen to see if she was okay. She seemed a little shocked to see the oven covered in foam while she still held the extinguisher. I jogged over to her, took the red canister from her hands, and closed the oven door.

  "Five hundred degrees? What the heck? There's no way I set the oven that high." I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead, trying to figure out how I was going to fix this. It was just another appliance of mine going on the fritz. Nick joined us and bumped my shoulder, sending an icy rush through my veins. I gave him a soft smile, but I didn't dare meet his eyes for fear I would cry over the disaster. I had just really started to get my business booming again in the last month. I didn't want it all to fall apart already.

  "I'm so sorry. I saw the smoke and I just panicked." Ellen's voice was just above a whisper.

  I surveyed the bakery. I had pies cooling on the racks, along with dozens of muffins and cookies waiting to be boxed for their orders. And now it was all ruined.

  I sighed heavily. I couldn't help it. I just didn't know how I was going to bake everything over again and still run the shop. It was a logistics nightmare.

  Ellen got a wash rag and started to wipe down the residue. I stopped her.

  "It's okay. Just leave it for right now."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, let's just go back up front and smooth things over. Then we'll figure it out." I sounded more confident than I felt.

  Ellen looked unsure. She was one heck of a cleaner, and I knew she was itching to get her hands on the mess.

  "It's almost nine o'clock. Maybe we'll get lucky and get a lull here," I said. It had been weeks since we'd have what I'd truly call a lull, but hey, maybe today we'd get lucky.

  I walked through the double swinging door, ready to reassure my customers everything was a-okay and stopped short. Walking through the front door was a gentleman who, frankly, I wished would get his pastries from someplace else. I use the term "gentleman" nicely. Snake was more like it. The man gave me the chills and it wasn't just because he was destroying the community that I loved. If I could have turned around and walked back into the kitchen, I would've. Instead, I squared my shoulders, held my head high, and waited to see what Edward Slayden was going to have to say today.

  "Good morning, Mrs. London. Always so good to see you. How are you doing today?"

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nick's blue orb dart over the man's head. Nick felt the same way about the real estate developer as I did. Meanwhile, Ellen related to our customers what had happened.

  "Good morning, Mr. Slayden. What can I get you today?" I asked.

  "Call me Edward." His long hair was slicked to the side, and he swept it back in place and smiled at me with his un-naturally white teeth.

  I didn't respond. Instead, I waited patiently, or maybe it was rather impatiently, to hear what the man wanted. He seemed to catch on.

  "How about you give me a slice of that pumpkin bread and a black coffee,” he said.

  "Sure thing." I got to work filling his order right away, hoping to get him to go away.

  "I drove by London Manor last night," he said while I reached into the dessert case for his bread.

  "Oh yeah?" My response was calm, but inside my blood turned to ice. The thought of that man driving by my newly acquired house creeped me out, mainly because I knew it was not the first time.

  "You're not living there yet." It wasn't a question. He knew darn well I hadn't move in. It had been a month since I inherited London Manor, and I still wasn't sure what I wanted to do with the place. Move in? Sell it? Not that I needed the money anymore, thanks to Nick's grandmother, Adele, and her generous inheritance. Well, to her cat anyway, and as his sole guardian, it all fell to me to manage it however I saw fit. It may seem crazy that someone would leave hundreds of thousands of dollars to a cat, but you wouldn't think that after meeting the rest of her ungrateful family. Despite the attorney’s insistence that the will was legal and locked tight, some of the family members were still contesting it. Thankfully, my in-laws weren't involved. They wanted nothing to do with the money and didn't have a problem w
ith me taking over the estate either. My father-in-law had learned a long time ago that money wasn't everything and was happy living the salty life in south Florida.

  "Let me make you an offer." Edward slid a piece of folded paper across the counter to me. I opened it up and tried to remain calm at the number of zeroes that stared back at me.

  "You can't be serious," I replied.

  "Of course I am. My only question is why haven't you sold it to me yet? A young woman like yourself. Surely it's too much of a house for you to maintain." Edward looked up at the ceiling as if he could tell that my one-bedroom apartment upstairs was in dire need of repairs.

  "Excuse me?" Now my blood was starting to boil. Nick manifested next to me. I thought he was going to tell me to take it easy, but he looked just as hot. Somehow that helped calm me down. "Listen, I appreciate your offer, but the house isn't for sale."

  "Oh, but everyone has a price." Edward looked at me with amusement in his eyes. I wanted to punch him for it.

  "Well, I don't and as you can see, I'm awfully busy here."

  Edward looked over his shoulder at the full house and received several cold stares back. That's what you got for forcing "economic prosperity" down everyone's throat, or whatever he was calling his latest demo project—subsidized housing that he was planning on bulldozing and rebuilding as luxury condos with shopping on the first floor. I still couldn't believe the county commissioner, Mike Rogers, had approved those building permits.

  "What do you want London Manor for anyway?" I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me. Surely, he wasn't considering becoming a resident of Bleu Clair Bay?

  "An investment, of course." Edward looked at me like I was dim. "The house, land, and views? The opportunities are impressive. You, for one, would never have to work again." Edward looked around the bakery, unable to see the space the way I did—full of light, warmth, and friendship. This wasn't just a bakery.

  "How about I make this to-go for you?" I offered without giving him a chance to respond. I wrapped the bread in a piece of wax paper and placed it in a white pastry bag. I then filled up the largest to-go cup I had with black coffee and handed it over. "Have a good one," I said, and turned my back to busy myself by re-stacking the clean plates Ellen had brought around from kitchen earlier in the morning.

  "I hope he slips on the ice and breaks his neck," Ellen said from behind me as he walked out. I didn't blame Ellen for her sentiments. She lived in the apartments that were scheduled to be destroyed.

  "Me too," I replied and gave her a sad smile.

  Betty had been walking up to the counter and heard our conversation. She readily agreed. "Tell me about it. You know that jerk heavily contributed to Mike Rogers' reelection fund, don't you?"

  "What?!" Ellen and I said in unison.

  "How do you think those permits went through?" Betty raised her eyebrows for emphasis.

  As our county commissioner, Mike Rogers was responsible for issuing building permits in addition to a slew of other government tasks. He had just been re-elected three weeks ago, something the community members were starting to protest. Talks of a recall were already circulating.

  "He can't do that, can he? That's buying politicians!" Ellen was beyond furious at the thought of Edward rigging our government. She looked to me for confirmation, but I didn't know much about politics.

  "It's legal as long as Rogers disclosed it, which he did in his fundraising statement. That's how I know about it." I always thought that special interest in politics was something that happened at a higher level not in the little village of Bleu Clair Bay.

  Our little trio snapped our mouths shut as Rogers’ new wife, Tonya, sashayed through the door just at that moment. The Louisiana native looked frozen to the bone.

  "Coffee?" I asked.

  Tonya rubbed her chilled hands together and then tugged her hair free from her silk scarf. I hated to be the one to tell her, but that little scarf was not going to help once the wind started to whip in earnest. Winter weather off Lake Michigan could be fierce, and we were scheduled to get a pounding tonight. Any leaves that had managed to cling to the trees would be on the ground come tomorrow.

  "Please." Tonya looked around and found herself not welcomed, much like Edward had. I couldn't have that. Edward might have brought the disdain of the community on himself, but Tonya was only guilty of being married to the commissioner.

  "You ready for this storm?" I asked her. "The weatherman predicted six to nine inches and what, a quarter inch of ice?" At least that was the last forecast I saw.

  "Well, you know, can't say that I am. I always thought winter would be beautiful, but I couldn't imagine how cold it would be." Tonya said the last part over her shoulder. I had a feeling she thought more than the temperature was chilly. I eyed Ellen, compelling her to be nice.

  Ellen cleared her throat. "Are you having family come up for the holiday?" she asked.

  "My family?” Tonya looked as if Ellen was crazy for even suggesting such a thing. She then clarified, “Ma'am's not feeling well enough to make the trip, and my sister refuses to go further north than Kentucky."

  I laughed at that. "Smart girl."

  Tonya shrugged her shoulders. “Our southern roots run deep,” she said with the southern drawl to prove it. "But Mike's family's joining us. It's my first time hosting a holiday.” She fidgeted with the buttons on her coat.

  "Oh really? Well, I'm sure you'll do great." I looked to Ellen and Betty, hoping they would agree with me, but they were both silent. Shame on them.

  "Can I get you anything else?" I asked.

  "No, I think I'll just be taking the coffee and heading out." Tonya said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

  "Well, have a wonderful day. Stay warm!" I said as a goodbye. Everyone else ignored her. Ellen had moved on about the bakery, and Betty was seeing herself out the door.

  I couldn't help but feel sorry for Tonya. Bleu Clair Bay residents were usually better than this. We were kind, nice, a community that looked out for one another, or we had been until the appearance of Edward Slayden. The luxury condo project wasn't the only that had rocked our village. Last month, he ran the art co-op out of their rental space and turned it into a boutique souvenir shop stocked with ridiculous items—like eighty-dollar sweatshirts and thirty-dollar beer glasses—all stamped with our state logo, and none of it manufactured in America. Edward hadn't even hired anyone local to work at the store, instead bringing in his own girlfriend from the West Coast along with her girlfriends. Eye candy, he had said with a wink when asked about it.

  I held in a sigh that threatened to escape.

  Just then, another familiar face walked in and looked for a table. I recognized Margaret's daughter Amelia walking in after her. If Margaret hadn't told us the month prior that Amelia was once again expecting, you would have never notice it. Her tall frame hid the pregnancy well. A little boy of about three years old held her hand, and I assumed he was her son. He had a head full of blonde curls like his mother and a mischievous look to his eyes like all little boys do. Amelia was about eight years younger than me, so we had never been friends, but that didn't mean I didn't know who she was. You couldn't live in a village the size of Bleu Clair Bay and not know everyone.

  The trio walked up to the counter to place their order.

  "Hi, Margaret. So good to see you. Are you guys back in town for Thanksgiving?" I asked.

  "The holiday and then some," Margaret had said with a knowing look. The last time we had chatted, Margaret had just quit as the housekeeper of London Manor after serving Mrs. London for twenty years, and was off to her daughter's house to help her care for her grandson since early pregnancy wasn't agreeing with Amelia this time. I didn't know a thing about Amelia's husband as she had run off down state right after high school and that was where they had gotten married and started their little family, but I knew Margaret didn't think a lick of him. As far as I could see, he hadn't joined them on their outing either. The little boy tugged Amelia by the
hand over to the display case and pointed at one of the giant maple leaf-shaped sugar cookies I had just iced that morning. Or maybe that had been last night. The days were blurring together. It sat on a tray along with a dozen or so other frosted cookies shaped like acorns, scarecrows, and pumpkins.

  "Jacob, baby, remember I said we wanted to eat something healthy first? How about we get a muffin." Amelia pointed to the shelf of muffins that, despite me restocking the cranberry orange ones, was once again running dangerously low.

  "Or you can get one of Claire's famous cinnamon rolls," Margaret pointed out. Amelia gave her mom a look. Oversized and plastered with thick, buttery frosting, my cinnamon rolls could hardly be considered a health food. I was sure that was exactly what Amelia was thinking.

  "Okay, I'll get the cinnamon roll, and he can have a bite. You two get your muffins, and I'll grab some of those sugar cookies to go." Margaret winked down at the little boy. He smiled in response.

  "I am totally outnumbered," Amelia said to me with a hint of amusement in her voice. I quickly plated their breakfasts and bagged up their cookies then poured a fresh cup of coffee for Margaret and filled two mugs with hot cocoa for Amelia and her Jacob. They took a seat at the last open table.

  Ellen and I took turns bussing the open tables, clearing away the dirty plates and mugs. I carted the brown plastic bin under my arm, carefully putting the dishes inside and sweeping them off to the kitchen, where, I was embarrassed to say, the dishes were really starting to stack up in addition to the fire fiasco. For not the first time, I thought about switching to paper plates and cups, just to get us through the holiday season. I went over to the industrial-sized sink and started rinsing plates off before the remnants really got plastered on. Dried icing was like super glue when you were trying to wash it off a ceramic plate. I did a quick look around the kitchen to see what else I could tackle in the minute I was back there. Everything on the cooling racks was going to have to be tossed, and the oven was going to be a nightmare to clean—those projects would have to wait.