Death by Scones Read Online Free

of whatever we gave away. I slid the knife into a brownie, cutting it into four bite-sized pieces.
    Amber followed me into the kitchen. She stood near the door, watching me wide eyed. "What are we going to do?"
    "Get a tray and a knife and get working. Cut the desserts down into smaller pieces. We'll serve this as their free samples."
    My gaze spotted the cinnamon buns Joe had recently made. Their dough required proofing. If I handed them out now, I wouldn't have time to make more later. "Only cut bars, muffins, and cupcakes."
    Amber followed my instructions. "Wouldn't it be easier to tell them the e-mail is a fluke?"
    I nearly sliced off the tip of my finger and willed myself to slow down. "If I wait until everyone is in here and then tell them 'Sorry, it was just a joke,' we'll look like a couple of idiots. You know how people like free stuff. I don't want to tarnish our reputation." Especially when I didn't have Grams to smooth any ruffled feathers. She was exceptionally good at persuading people to see things her way.
    Amber nodded. "You're right."
    As we filled each tray with miniature samples, we rushed them out to the four tables. Back and forth from the kitchen to the front of the store, and by the time we were done, sweat trickled down my back, and I panted like a dog. I glanced down to my dress, making sure I wasn't covered in flour or crumbs.
    After a semi-thorough inspection, I stood in front of the counter, feet together, hands clenched behind my back, and I plastered a welcome smile onto my face.
    The bell above the door jingled. They'd arrived.
    The first person to enter was Mallory Winchester. She was a PTA mom, and her youngest daughter took a couple of dance classes at Tara's studio. She wore black yoga pants and jacket, a light-blue top, and white sneakers. Her shoulder-length black hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail. She gave a tight-lipped smile and walked over to the tables, seemingly hesitant about taking one of the items.
    I didn't know her well—just what I'd observed over the years. You didn't hang out with her unless you wanted your conversation plastered around town. She was very generous and community-minded though. A gossip with a heart of gold was what Grams called her.
    After her entrance, everyone else entered in a blur. The small bakery filled almost immediately. The crowd was so thick that I couldn't see the front windows anymore. Bodies even extended past the register and front door, to the narrow corridor that led to the public restroom.
    This had to be a fire hazard, but I had no intention of commenting and possibly getting trampled. If the fire marshal showed up… Well, I just prayed he wouldn't.
    "Welcome, everyone," I shouted, but no one seemed to hear me.
    I looked to Amber, and we exchanged a fleeting glance of panic. I stepped behind the counter, wanting to get out of the way and to get ready for all of the orders we'd ring up. One taste of our baked goods always left people wanting more. My mind drifted to the e-mail. Who had sent it out? Certainly not Grams. If she had, she would've told me about it. And she had never done anything like this before.
    She wasn't a believer in freebies. She felt everything should be worked for in some way, even if it meant bartering. I didn't agree with her, especially in this day and age. Sometimes you had to give away a sample so people knew how good your product was. She'd be mortified if she knew what was happening in her store right now.
    But it wasn't her store anymore.
    The left side of my mouth rose. I could do whatever I wanted. She'd made it perfectly clear that handing over the keys meant I was fully in charge, and she was no longer responsible for any of it. I could get up on the counter, strip, and sell dollar bills for a quarter, if I wanted to. Not that I would be that foolish. There wasn't enough room on any of the counters.
    Mallory finally acknowledged my presence. She glanced my way, raised her half-cookie bar, and