Bite-sized Bakery 06 - Murder Glazed Donuts by Rosie A Point

Author:Rosie A Point [Point, Rosie A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-08T05:00:00+00:00

11

Bee had chosen a classy outfit—black tailored pants, a black polo neck and a fleece black jacket to match. I had gone for a black trench with a maxi dress underneath because I didn’t have that much black clothing.

Not that it mattered.

There were an awful lot of people wearing colorful clothing at Misty’s funeral. It was scandalous. To make matters worse, there weren’t many people in the cemetery present to pay their respects. There were a handful, apart from the pastor himself—the same man, Jack Byrne, we’d met in front of the bakery after Misty’s death.

Other than him, the handful of guests intrigued me. Since everyone had, apparently, despised Misty, it made no sense that any of them would’ve been in attendance, unless they had agendas of their own.

“What do you think?” I asked, out of the corner of my mouth.

Pastor Jack held his bible in one hand, his eyes closed as he waxed lyrical about Misty’s achievements. The coffin—a polished walnut behemoth—sat above its rectangle in the dirt, poised to be lowered inside.

“I think we probably shouldn’t be talking while he is,” Bee replied, also out of the side of her mouth.

“He’s not praying. He’s just talking about her.” I frowned. “With his eyes closed.”

“Emotional guy.”

The pastor raised his hands. “As a child of the flock, Misty was dedicated. She believed that giving for the sake of giving would only wind up hurting those on the receiving end of those gifts. That it was important to teach a man to fish, rather than to give him food for a day.”

I tried keeping my expression sorrowful, but it was difficult. Of course, it was Misty’s funeral, so the pastor had to find something good to say about her—but couldn’t he have done a little better than this?

The drone of his voice, caught halfway between sadness and concentration, crept between those gathered and the gravestones further back. A naked elm tree stood nearby, silent and watching. It didn’t provide any shade, but it didn’t need to today. The sky was gray.

Someone sneezed nearby, but there wasn’t any sobbing.

I scanned the gathered people. Across from us, on the other side of the coffin and open patch of dirt, stood Olivia, her head bowed, but she was clothed in a cheery orange sweater. Next to her stood the wily-looking Tom O’Leary. They weren’t holding hands this time.

Further back, nearer the elm tree, Harper Kelly hovered, tugging at the throat of her own polo-neck sweater in a shade of fuchsia. And that was it, apart from a woman I didn’t recognize who hovered next to Pastor Byrne. She wore her hair dark, beneath a black hat, and was the only person dressed appropriately. Her gaze darted from left to right, constantly.

“Who do you think that is?” I whispered.

Bee hummed in her throat. “Must be the pastor’s wife? Don’t know who else would be here for Misty, dressed appropriately.”

That was a good note. If she was the pastor’s wife, we could probably exclude her from our sleuthing suspicions.

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