Cast the First Scone, page 1
Cast the First Scone
Twin Berry Bakery - 5
Wendy Meadows
© 2021, Wendy Meadows
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Majestic Owl Publishing LLC
P.O. Box 997
Newport, NH 03773
Author’s Note
Hi reader! Thanks for grabbing my book. I hope you enjoy the twins, Rita and Rhonda, on their sleuthing adventures. :)
If you’re ready to grab more books in the series, you can click below to view them all. :)
Twin Berry Bakery Cozy Mystery Series
Oh, be sure to join my newsletter to stay up-to-date with new releases and other tidbits.
wendymeadows.com/cozy
Happy reading,
Wendy Meadows
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
What’s Next?
Sneak Peek: Hell Hath No Cookie
More from Wendy
About Wendy Meadows
Chapter One
Billy sure liked the Hidden Winter Lodge. The lodge sure was hidden, too, tucked way up in northern Maine close to the Canadian border, resting in front of a deep, icy lake fed by a winter river that was pretty enough to make Billy slap his leg and say “Yee-haw.” What Billy loved most were the endless miles of snowy woods that hugged the lodge. Boy, he thought, standing down by the lake with Chester, a man sure could get lost in them woods, too—just take off on foot and head north and vanish clear out of sight and mind.
Billy had no intention of vanishing into the snowy woods. Nah, it was almost supper time, and Mrs. Moods was cooking up a mess of food, enough to make any man’s mouth water and his tummy do a happy dance.
“Pauline is cooking stew, biscuits, cornbread, and coconut cake,” he told Chester with a wide smile. Chester raised a lazy eye and glanced up at Billy. Billy, oblivious that it was freezing, oblivious that it was snowing harder than a hurricane, oblivious that his cheeks were turning into icebergs, resembled a schoolyard child getting ready to take his turn on the new swings.
“Isn’t he sweet,” Rita giggled. “Look, Billy is still wearing his overalls.”
Rhonda tossed her brown suitcase onto a bed covered with a thick brown quilt that could have been the back of a grizzly bear for all she knew. “Why did we travel all the way to Maine?” she asked in a sleepy voice. She walked over to the frost-covered window, wiped away a splotch of frost with her hands, peered out into the snow, and spotted Billy standing down beside the icy lake. Poor Billy was wearing a red and black coat over his usual overalls, looking like a fish out of water. At least his baseball cap gave him a…somewhat…okay, Billy looked as southern as southern could be.
“Billy is a big teddy bear,” Rhonda informed Rita in a sleepy voice. “I’ll laugh at him after I get a good eight hours of sleep.”
Rita watched Billy pat Chester on the head and then bend down, take a handful of snow, and toss it at the lake. The icy winds grabbed the snow and threw it back at Billy’s face. Billy laughed with joy.
“Sweet man,” Rita giggled. She turned her attention to the room she and Rhonda were sharing. The room held two twin beds sitting on an old hardwood floor that, to Rhonda’s relief, didn’t fuss or creak. Log walls that had endured years of harsh winters sat above the floor, running around the room with old eyes that had seen many people come and go. A stone fireplace sat at the north end of the room holding a warm fire. Two green sitting chairs and a coffee table sat in front of the fireplace. The rustic atmosphere of the room was authentic and, to Rita’s delight, very welcoming. “I’m glad you decided to join me,” she told Rhonda in a relaxed voice.
“I’m still not sure why you asked me to fly to the North Pole.” Rhonda took off her thick pink coat, tossed it down onto her bed, and looked at Rita. “I’m all ears.”
Rita brushed at the dress she was wearing and then, out of habit, checked her hair. For Billy’s sake, because Billy liked a woman to wear her hair free as the wind, Rita had allowed her hair to remain untouched by a hair tie. Of course, with her hair running free over a brown dress that appeared as if it had been transported out of the pioneer days, Rita felt more like a mountain woman than a retired city cop. The feeling was nice—and even welcoming.
Rhonda still had the look of a city woman. The exhausted woman was wearing a stylish soft purple skirt and a cool gray blouse that could have sung with money but came from a thrift store.
“Well,” Rita said in a way to make Rhonda tense up, “I’ve asked you to join me because I…we…might…” Rita paused, walked over to her bed, and sat down. She rubbed her nervous hands together, steadied her mind, and struggled to sound practical. “Rhonda, Mr. and Mrs. Moods, the people who own this lodge, have informed me they were interested in…selling.”
Rhonda couldn’t believe her ears. Was Rita Knight, the most practical woman on the face of the planet—a woman who cut coupons, counted pennies, and used every ounce of peanut butter a jar could hold—actually suggesting buying some remote snow-covered lodge way up in northern Maine? Surely Rhonda had misheard. She slapped her head, checked her ears, then rubbed her eyes. “Rita—”
“I know, I know,” Rita exploded in a half-miserable, half-excited voice. “We have our bakery to think of, right? Sure. Our bakery is our financial well—our stable income source. And so far, our bakery has done well in Clovedale Falls.” Rita hurried over to the coffee table, snatched up a brown mug, and took a sip of coffee that was more lukewarm than hot. Rita had tossed a piece of peppermint into the mug, giving the coffee a sweet, winter taste. “Rhonda—”
“Did Billy put you up to this?” Rhonda asked. “Of course—that’s it. This is a practical joke.” Rhonda let out a dorky laugh and then flopped back on her bed. “Oh, you had me going there for a second, sis. I honestly thought—”
“I do want us to purchase this lodge,” Rita blurted out before her courage failed.
Rhonda slowly leaned up, studied Rita’s expression, and made an “are you crazy?” face. “Rita, all of our money is tied up with the bakery. I mean, sure, we’re doing okay financially speaking, but we don’t have the dough to buy a…lodge.” Rhonda rolled her eyes. “Boy, this snow must have frozen your common sense.”
Rita let out a deep sigh. “I’m fully aware of our financial commitments and capabilities, Rhonda,” she said, taking another sip of coffee and walking over to the window. Billy was still standing beside the lake looking like a kid in a candy store. “Billy said he would…lend us the money.”
Rhonda couldn’t believe her ears. Rita Knight, better known as Ms. Logical, was actually serious about buying some remote winter lodge. “I leave you alone for a few seconds and you lose your mind,” she fussed. She popped to her feet, ran over to the window, and grabbed Rita’s shoulders. “Sis, we have a mortgage on a cabin and a business. We have bills…B-I-L-L-S. Now, I like being spontaneous and adventurous just as much as the next gal, but way back in the dusty rooms of my mind I keep a little filing cabinet stuffed with papers that remind me I have to be responsible at least two or three minutes a day.”
Rita sighed. “I do sound…impractical, don’t I?” she said. “I run our bakery like a military base, and now here I am wanting to buy a lodge?”
Rhonda’s brow furrowed. “Rita, why this lodge? I mean no offense, but it’s not that great. It’s not horrible, either, but it’s no posh ski resort.” Rhonda shook her head. “Also, we’re really…really…far out. I mean, poor Mr. Moody sure had a pickle of a time driving us to this block of wood from town. I honestly didn’t think we were going to make it.”
Rita sighed again. “Exactly,” she told Rhonda. “The world…isn’t here. It’s as though…oh.” Rita hugged her arms, walked over to the fireplace, and studied the burning logs. “Rhonda, it’s as though I’ve walked back through time,” she continued. “I can’t put into words what I’m feeling. All I can say is that I feel…peace.”
“Lay off the coffee and you’ll feel peace at home.”
Rita rolled her eyes. “I don’t intend to leave Clovedale Falls,” she informed Rhonda. “I love Clovedale Falls.”
“Then what?” Rhonda begged. She joined Rita at the fireplace. “Sis, talk to me.”
Rita kept her eyes on the burning logs. “Billy has his farm, Rhonda…a farm that he loves…a farm that is a part of him…defines him somehow? I want that, Rhonda. I want something to call…for us…to call our own.”
“Hello…does our bakery ring a bell?” Rhonda asked in a silly voice. “Like, does not all the cakes and pies and muffins ring a bell?”
Rita rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
Rhonda stopped being silly. “Sis, what’s eating you?” she asked in a concerned voice. “Ever since we visited Mom and Dad you haven’t been acting like your old usual self.”
“Our parents,” Rhonda whispered and then simply walked away from the fireplace, back to the window, and searched for Billy. Billy, the crazy guy, was still standing out in the freezing snow as if he were smelling flowers on a warm spring morning. Poor Chester looked frozen to the bone. “Our parents…”
Rhonda fought sleep out of her mind, went to her sister, and took her hand. “Care to elaborate?”
“No.”
Rhonda nibbled on her lip. “Mom and Dad said something that rubbed you wrong, didn’t they?” she asked.
Rita eased her eyes over to Rhonda, saw her sister’s worried face, and caved. “Not intentionally,” she explained in a careful voice.
“Oh?”
Rita let her eyes drop. “Our bakery is so safe…fits us like a comfortable shoe…we were so sensible to invest in such a wise business…safe…oh, so safe.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Rhonda asked. “Mom and Dad are always complimenting us on the success of our bakery. I admit, at first they were a little…skeptical, but now that they’ve seen our bank account…hey, pop open the root beer and get out the vanilla ice cream.”
“Exactly!” Rita threw her hands up in the air. “Safe Rita…that’s me…always predictable, always practical, even as a cop, always by the book…most of the time, anyway.” Rita watched Billy build a snowman. Well, try to build a snowman. Poor Billy couldn’t seem to get his gloved hands to get a snowball rolling. Every time he tried Chester would jump on his back and knock poor Billy down into the snow. Rita heard Billy fuss at Chester and tell him to knock it off. Chester kept pointing his eyes toward the warm lodge. “Billy isn’t safe.”
Rhonda watched Chester knock Billy down again and laughed. “Billy is a special sort of person,” she pointed out.
“Billy is brave…daring…and…and…willing to break the normal,” Rita explained in a desperate voice. She turned to Rhonda. “Sis, I admit that I’m a very…extremely…practical woman. I admit that I prefer to play it safe. I prefer a secure box of money hidden in the bank. Security is vital, especially at our age. But…but…”
Rhonda put her hands out and touched Rita’s shoulders. “You’re all bottled up and want to take a daring chance, right?”
Rita slowly nodded her head as if she were ashamed. “I need a place to escape to that isn’t safe. A place where I can feel…free. As much as I love our bakery, Rhonda, I’m always counting our customers, the sales, our inventory and waste, our profit and loss margin…the works.” Rita walked back to the fireplace and relaxed her eyes on the burning logs. “This lodge is peace, and it practically takes care of itself. All we have to pay is the mortgage—Billy, in other words—property taxes, utilities, upkeep, food…little things that our personal savings can handle.”
“I’m kinda fond of my savings.”
Rita kept her eyes on the burning logs. Was she being foolish? Was she stepping off a cliff? What in the world was she thinking? “We could eventually turn a profit, Rhonda—in time. But then again…maybe…we would just…”
“Just what?” Rhonda dared to ask.
“Not run a lodge and simply have this place to ourselves. All we would have to pay—”
“Electricity, property taxes, and Billy,” Rhonda finished. She drew in a deep breath and let her eyes play in the falling snow. The lodge was actually very—extremely—quaint and beautiful, and the lake was breathtaking. The snow was peaceful, and Rhonda knew that with the beautiful trees, autumn would be extraordinary. “Rita, this lodge sits on over three hundred acres of land. That’s a lot of grass to mow…but I have to admit, owning that much land would be nice.”
Rita heard a tinge of color in Rhonda’s voice that quickly covered her gray pessimism. She spun away from the fireplace and studied Rhonda’s face. Rhonda was the type of woman who jumped off the highest rock at the local swimming hole. “Can you imagine it?” she said in an excited voice. “We would own all the land and this lovely, rustic lodge. Anytime we desired…bye-bye world and hello Maine!”
How could Rhonda say no to her sister? How could she say no to such a desperate puppy face? “Well,” she said and then allowed a smile to touch her eyes and her mouth, “as long as Billy is the bank…sure, why not? I mean, if we fall behind on our payments with Billy, the worst he can do is keep us off his farm, right? Or maybe sic Chester on us.”
Rita let out an excited cry. She ran to Rhonda and hugged her so tight that Rhonda thought she would faint for lack of air. “Oh, this will be so great! We’ll keep the lodge exactly as it is and not change anything. We’ll…spend our winters here while Clovedale Falls walks through the slow season. We’ll…” Rita hugged Rhonda again. “We’ll take snowy hikes, make snowmen, go sledding, drink hot coffee beside the fire—”
“Chop wood, freeze our buns off, and get frostbite,” Rhonda joked and then laughed. Rita laughed back.
Rita ran to the bedroom window, pulled it open, and yelled out into the snow: “Billy!”
Billy heard Rita’s sweet voice soar through the icy winds and strike his ears like a warm blanket. He stopped fussing with Chester, wiped snow off his knees, and looked up at the lodge. He spotted Rita leaning out a window and waving at him with excited hands. “Well, Chester,” he said, smiling, “looks like you and me will be spending a whole bunch of winters in this here place, and I ain’t got one single gripe about it.”
Rhonda watched Rita wave at Billy and then sat down on her bed. “Well,” she whispered, “if Billy will be the bank and he offers us a sensible monthly payment plan…why not?” Sure, why not? Why not be daring and buy a winter wonderland filled with bears and other wild animals instead of the wild animals that roamed dangerous cities and preyed on innocent people? “This could be nice,” Rhonda finished. She plopped her head back onto a soft pillow. “Don’t wake me for dinner,” she said to Rita before dropping off into a warm sleep.
Billy rubbed his hands together as Mrs. Moods set down a large brown Crockpot of delicious corn chowder stew full of ground chicken. “Oh boy.” He smiled from ear to ear. “I’m hungry enough to eat a whole turkey and then some.”
Rita grinned at Billy who, to her shock, had tossed on a nice gray jacket over his overalls to appear “gentleman-like” for Mrs. Moods. Billy had even removed his baseball cap, which was a big deal. “It does smell wonderful,” she told Mrs. Moods.
Mrs. Moods, a seventy-two-year-old woman who looked meaner than a wolf and tougher than a grizzly bear—but who, deep down, had a heart of gold—wiped her hands on her gray apron. “I’ll go get the biscuits and cornbread,” she said and walked out of a rustic dining room lined with log walls and a hardwood floor that would outlast any modern floor gracing million-dollar homes.
“Rhonda sure is missing out,” Billy told Rita.
Rita, who was sitting beside Billy, glanced across the long wooden table covered with a dark brown tablecloth and studied the three other dinner guests. Phil and Maria Lumpkin, who were at the lodge celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary, sat across from Rita wearing warm sweaters and not looking a day over fifty; Mr. Lumpkin was fifty-one and Mrs. Lumpkin was fifty. The third dinner guest was a sixty-two-year-old stockbroker named Howard Maples. Howard, who resided in Minneapolis, visited the lodge each winter to spend time with Mr. Moods. According to Mrs. Moods, Howard was Mr. Moods’s cousin; Mrs. Moods didn’t seem to care for the man.
“Nice evening, isn’t it?” Rita said in a polite voice, addressing everyone at the table.
“It’s a shame my cousin took to a fever and had to go to bed,” Howard said in a disappointed voice. “I was looking forward to spending the evening enjoying a game of chess with him.”
Rita scanned Howard, or at least as much as she could see above the table. The man was large in build. He wore a dorky gray mustache that offered no compliment to his chubby, snobby face that made Rita think of some eighteenth-century snot who sat around writing ugly letters to women who refused to have dinner with him.
