Death by Scones Read Online Free Page A

smiled. "These are excellent, Riley."
    I nodded, smiled, and went in for the sell. "None of the recipes have changed. These are all mine and Cinnamon's original creations. I will be adding some new variations over time, but they will all remain nut and preservative free."
    Amber had been just over a year old when Grams gave her a small bite of a peanut butter cookie. Amber's chubby, pale face and neck broke out in bright-red hives. We'd discovered she had a peanut allergy, and Grams removed all nut traces from the bakery.
    A trio of older women in pastel-colored tracksuits smiled and nodded while chewing. I could never remember their names, Bitty, Batty, Babs, something. Despite the fact that they were also in their midsixties, Grams wasn't close to them. Their idea of a hot night out was bingo at the church, while Grams preferred salsa dancing. But Grams loved talking to them and making a big deal out of their arrival every time they came into the bakery. She said everyone who entered deserved to feel special, and Grams was the queen of small talk. While she preferred spending her days surrounded by people, I preferred cozying up to the flour, eggs, and sugar. They were more predictable. And delicious.
    The shortest woman, in yellow, swallowed fast and said, "Tell Cinnamon we'll miss seeing her spunk when we come in here. It won't be the same without her."
    Amber snorted.
    The woman in pink swatted her friend's arm and whispered, "That's rude."
    I just smiled. I was no Cinnamon Templeton, ex-Playboy bunny, charismatic Leo, and sweet talker. I knew this. I just hoped people stopped in more for the cupcakes than seeing Grams.
    A tall, younger woman stepped forward. She had a sleeping infant strapped to her chest in one of those Babybj ö rn contraptions. She pointed to the banana muffins in the display. "How many calories are in a whole muffin? And what about the fat grams? Do you cook with butter or applesauce, because applesauce has fewer calories?"
    She was aware this was a bakery, right?
    "Everything is preservative free and made from scratch, but we don't calculate calories, and we use unsalted butter, olive oil, and canola oil, depending on the recipe," I said.
    She looked downright offended, as if I'd just said her newborn was fugly.
    Amber stepped forward. "Bakeries are fun. They're not supposed to be about calories and fat. It's a treat."
    That didn't help. The woman huffed and turned back to the crowd.
    I raised a brow to my cousin. She smiled.
    When I'd started working here full time after college, I asked Grams about offering items on the menu that were more health conscious. I hadn't cared if our items were made with real, unsalted butter, or applesauce, but I'd had some classmates who severely restricted themselves and wouldn't go near a grain of sugar. Grams had refused to tamper with our recipes, a few of which were handed down from her own grandmother. I understood that. They were awesome recipes.
    The bell above the door jingled again, and I turned my attention to it, as did everyone else.
    Chatter lulled as an older man stepped into the bakery.
    Immediately, everyone grew silent, as if their talking was controlled by a switch. They all seemed shocked, standing with their half-eaten muffins and cookies in hand. A gasp echoed from within the crowd.
    What was the big deal? Who was he?
    As if reading my mind, he turned and stared at me. He was a squat man, barely five eight or so, and close to three hundred pounds. He sported a thick white crop of bed hair, a wrinkled, light-blue button-down, and gray trousers that were so tight he had to fasten them below his bulging belly.
    "Who is he?" I whispered to Amber.
    Eyes wide, she shrugged.
    One of the Bitty-Batty women leaned toward me. "That's Nathan Dearborn," she whispered so softly I almost didn't hear her.
    Seriously?
    I'd never met the man, but I knew of him. Everyone did.
    Nathan Dearborn was Danger Cove's resident recluse and grouch. He lived in one of the