Murder, She Baked: A Halloween Mystery for You to Solve
ed to arrange the desserts.
This was a strategic decision. You cannot be expected to organize a tray of chocolate brownies without checking whether they’re fit for public consumption.
Walter Briggs stood beside the judging table, polishing his glasses.
Walter owned half the storefronts on Main Street and behaved as though the other half had personally disappointed him. He had volunteered to judge the bake-off after informing the committee that last year’s winner had produced “a sponge cake with the personality of damp insulation.”
Three women had entered this year.
All three had reasons to dislike him.
Nora Bell, who owned the bakery, had received notice that Walter intended to double her rent.
June Carter, the florist, had paid him a deposit on a shop he subsequently rented to someone else. She was still waiting for her money.
And Ellen Price, the festival treasurer, had spent the afternoon arguing with Walter about missing fundraiser receipts.
“I’ll have those accounts examined Monday,” he’d told her within earshot of half the committee.
Ellen had smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile.
At seven fifteen, Walter took his seat.
Before him sat three numbered plates, a fresh fork, and his black travel mug. Walter brought that mug everywhere. He claimed the town’s coffee was undrinkable, which was a bold complaint from a man whose own brew smelled capable of stripping furniture.
I had watched him fill it from his thermos in the kitchen ten minutes earlier. He’d screwed on the lid, tasted the coffee, and carried it into the hall himself.
“Where’s my sugar?” he asked.
“In the bowl beside you,” I said.
“That’s granulated. I asked for cubes.”
Apparently, even sugar needed to know its place.
Nora had entered a chocolate pumpkin cake. June had made an apple-cider loaf. Ellen’s contribution was a spice cake with thick cream-cheese frosting.
Walter lifted his fork toward Nora’s entry.
The lights went out.
Somebody screamed. Somebody else shouted that it was part of the entertainment.
From the darkness came a sharp clatter.
“Everybody stay still,” I called.
Naturally, twelve people immediately began moving.
The blackout lasted less than a minute. When the lights returned, Walter was sitting upright, looking irritated.
“Ridiculous,” he said.
His mug was still beside his right hand, but its flip-top drinking tab stood open.
I remembered it being closed.
Before I could mention that, Walter took a long drink. Then he tried all three cakes, recorded something on his scorecard, and reached for his coffee again.
A few minutes later, he collapsed.
Sheriff Dan Mercer arrived while the ambulance crew was still working.
The bake-off stopped. The hall emptied except for the committee and the three contestants, who stood beneath a banner reading A NIGHT TO DIE FOR.
Nobody liked the banner quite as much now.
Dan asked me to explain what I’d seen.
I told him about the mug.
He examined it without touching the drinking opening.
“And you’re certain nobody handled his coffee before the lights went out?”
“I watched him pour it himself. He was carrying it when he sat down.”
The deputy beside him made a note.
Later, after the mug and desserts had been tested, Dan returned with the news: the cakes were safe. The poison had been in Walter’s coffee.
The thermos held ordinary coffee. The poison had been added after Walter filled his mug.
That left the blackout.
Dan gathered the three women near the judging table.
“Tell me where you were when the lights failed.”
Nora folded her arms.
“In the kitchen, taking another tray out of the oven. Ask Patti. She came through the doorway with her phone light and told me to stay put.”
That was true. I’d checked the kitchen during the blackout. Nora stood beside the oven wearing two large mitts, with a tray balanced between them.
June pointed toward the rear exit.
“I was helping Mrs. Cooper. Her walker caught on the edge of the rug when everybody started moving. I stayed with her until the lights came back.”
Mrs. Cooper confirmed it.
“She held my arm the entire time,” she said. “And whoever put that rug there ought to be made to walk across it in flippers.”
Ellen adjusted the little silver spider pinned to her cardigan.
“I was by the raffle tickets. I didn’t go near Walter.”
“Did you hear anything?” Dan asked.
“Something fell. Then people started shouting.”
“The clatter was his fork,” I said. “It was on the floor when the lights came back. I gave him a clean one.”
Ellen nodded quickly.
“That explains it. When I saw the white powder on his coffee lid, I assumed he’d dropped his fork while reaching for the sugar.”
Dan looked up.
“White powder?”
“Just a few grains around the drinking opening.”
I stared at her.
There had been a trace of pale powder caught in the little groove beneath the open tab. I’d noticed it only when I leaned over Walter to help him.
From the raffle table, his mug had been hidden behind a tall centerpiece of black branches and paper bats.
“You must have very good eyesight,” I said.
Ellen’s fingers tightened around her spider pin.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Dan pulled out the chair beside her.
“Let’s sit down, Ellen.”
Before you accuse anyone, there’s one more detail.
The sugar bowl beside Walter contained brown sugar.
I know because I filled it myself. The kitchen had run out of white sugar, and Walter had complained about that, too.
The pale grains around his mug’s drinking opening hadn’t come from the bowl.
And Dan had never told the contestants where the poison residue had been found.
Your Turn, Detective
Who poisoned Walter Briggs, and what gave the killer away?
Was it Nora, protecting her bakery? June, furious over her stolen deposit? Or Ellen, worried about those missing receipts?
Tell me your suspect and the clue that convinced you in the comments. No peeking at anyone else’s answer until you’ve made your own accusation.
I’d also like to know whether you would have stayed to finish the cake once the sheriff said it was safe.
I’m not judging.
Walter already tried that, and look how his evening turned out.
A Halloween Treat for My Newsletter Readers
Because I prefer giving my readers treats with their mysteries, I’ve made you a free printable gift: seven bookmarks and seven matching author bookplates featuring my book covers.
The PDF includes instructions for printing the bookmarks on photo paper and the bookplates on adhesive-backed paper, plus cutting guides. Each bookplate has space for a reader’s name and my handwritten signature.
Look for the gift in my newsletter. If you’d like to join my reader circle, visit pattipetronemillerauthor.com and look for the newsletter signup.
Now, get comfortable, examine those statements, and tell me who murdered our unfortunate cake judge.
Around here, Halloween comes with pumpkins, a little laughter, and people who should really learn to stop confessing by accident.
With love and Halloween mischief, Patti Petrone Miller International Bestselling Author