Murder Under the Mistletoe (A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 5) by Rosie A. Point

Author:Rosie A. Point [Point, Rosie A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-11T22:00:00+00:00

11

“Bee,” I whispered. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“You mean the ghostly figure watching us from the back of the church?”

“I was thinking more like the creepy person watching us from the back of the church.”

“To-may-to, tomato,” Bee replied.

“Bee. He’s moving.” Assuming it was a ‘he,’ the figure on the back step of the church was, indeed, approaching. One purposeful step at a time, walking almost as though we were animals who could be scared off by sudden movements.

“Oh my heavens,” Bee said. “I think you’re right.”

“What do we do?” It was possibly the dumbest question that had ever left my lips—obviously we had to run—but I could barely think straight. Panic trickled down my spine. It’s got to be the killer. They’ve come back to the scene of the crime.

Something glinted in the figure’s hand, and I sucked in a breath.

“We fight,” Bee said. “Come on, Ruby. We can take them down. There’s two of us and only one of them.”

“That would be great,” I whispered, squeaking it out and backing away, “like a really great idea if they weren’t holding a gun or knife in their hand, right now.”

Bee froze. “Oh. That’s regrettable.”

“Regrettable? More like terrifying.”

“Fine. Terrifying. But I still think that—”

The figure grunted and quickened their pace, crunching across the snow toward us. Our time for cute conversation was up.

“Run!” I cried, and scrambled toward the gate. I was up and over in two seconds flat, but Bee had gotten the back of her jeans caught on the spikes.

“Help,” she said. “Help, help. I’m stuck.” She stretched out her arms, and I grabbed hold of them and pulled with all my might. The figure stormed toward us, and a shriek got stuck in my throat.

“Pull harder!” Bee yelled, glancing over her shoulder, her legs kicking against the bottom of the gate and clanging loudly. “Quick!” She was suspended half-way up, her beanie skew on her head. “Ruby!”

I gave a massive tug.

There was a terrific rippp of fabric, and Bee screeched and fell free of the gate. She landed majestically a second time, on her high-heeled boots with poise. No gymnast poses, though, Bee sprinted off, and I followed, darting after her down the sidewalk, a fine layer of snow falling in front of us.

“I lost my flashlight,” Bee panted. “He’s got my flashlight!”

“I think we’ve got bigger problems, right now. Better that he has your flashlight than our lives.” I glanced over my shoulder, but the figure hadn’t climbed the church fence yet. “We’ve got to—”

“Watch out!” Bee yelled.

I skidded to a halt, but it was too late. I careened directly into something warm and slightly squishy.

“Ow!” It was a person. A woman.

I caught her arms, before we both fell to the slippery wet ground, and tried steadying myself. My boots slid, and I ran on the spot, bobbling left and right, until, finally, Bee grabbed me from behind and held me in place.

“Relax, Michael Flatley,” she said.

“Very funny.”

“Not funny at all!” Ava Jacobsen, the mayor’s grieving window, tugged her arms from my grasp and glared at me through narrowed green eyes.

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