Magical, Murderous Cupcakes: Rosie Reynolds Paranormal Mysteries, #1

By Ron Tucker

Rosie Reynolds left her hometown of Greylock Cove when she was sixteen. Fifteen years later, she's coming back home for a signing of her bestselling cookbook. She expected to see some familiar faces. What she didn't expect is an old high school rival to end up dead!

 

Rosie must now figure out who the killer is. Otherwise, an innocent young witch will be charged for a crime she didn't commit. As Rosie digs into the mystery, she learns there are a few Greylock residents with secrets of their own. Secrets that might get Rosie killed before she can figure out who the murderer is.

 

Rosie Reynolds Paranormal Mysteries are filled with cozy settings, charming hometown friends, and a dash of magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ron Tucker
• Release date: Jan 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223202820

Book preview

Chapter

One

Itook in a deep breath of the crisp, Northern California redwood air, filling my lungs. It was sunny, but nothing like the warm weather I had become used to from the southern half of the state. I smiled for a moment, remembering the roads I had been driving on for hours. The smile disappeared when I tried to take a sip of my now-empty second caramel mocha latté. I could’ve really gone for a third one.

An old, dilapidated, wooden sign came into view. It was weathered and once painted a light brown with the letters reading Welcome to Greylock Cove painted yellow. Both paint jobs were now long faded. The winding road leading to my old hometown was serene. Growing up, I didn’t like it. Whenever we’d leave for a trip, it was long and boring and nothing to see but trees and dirt. Now that I was coming back, I could really appreciate the beauty of the tall sequoias all around.

A quick blip of a siren sounded, and for a split second, I was caught off guard. A police officer? Out here?

I pulled off to the side, bringing my silver convertible coupe to a stop, and peered into my rearview mirror. Spotting an old, beige pickup truck, I thought, It looks nothing like the police vehicles I’m used to seeing down in Los Angeles. There was a small blue light on top of the truck’s cab that reminded me of one of those old police shows, where someone plops down the red and blue light on the roof of their car and sets off in chase. Suddenly, I realized the man walking up to my car was Carl. He looked a little older than I remembered, with a full head of gray hair, and he was wearing his deputy attire.

Of course, I whispered to myself, chuckling. I can’t believe I forgot.

Carl had been one of the deputies for the local sheriff for years. They all had shifts that involved patrolling the quiet highway, keeping track of who’s coming and going around Greylock Cove.

Afternoon, Carl said, looking down at me. His eyes lingered on me for a moment without saying anything. I think he recognized me, but if he did, he didn’t let on. Awfully nice day for a baseball game, he said with that same warm smile I remembered from years ago.

It is, I answered, grinning. The conversation was a staple that residents of the cove or other paranormal visitors knew. It was kind of like a secret passcode. It’d be a shame if the dragons came out.

Dragons? He feigned confusion. I was surprised it made me laugh like it did when I was little. What on earth are you talking about?

You know, the ones hiding in Pixie Rock Cave.

His eyes narrowed. I didn’t remember that expression. Twisting his head ever so slightly, he quirked an eyebrow. I suddenly remembered the words that I misspoke.

"Pixie Lily! Pixie Lily Cave."

For a moment, his eyes stayed locked on me, unsure what to believe. A nervous and slightly embarrassed ball of energy bounced around inside of me. Misspeaking the code words that let outsiders in? I really had been gone from Greylock Cove for too long.

Thankfully, Carl’s skeptical expression left him, and he gave me a wide smile. Is that you, little Rosie?

It’s me, Carl.

Well, get out of this car and give me a hug. Little Rosie Reynolds, coming back to Greylock Cove.

No, no, no, I said, shaking my finger while I giggled, getting out of the car. I’m just visiting, Carl.

Oh, don’t say that. His dark skin wrinkled around his eyes when he smiled again. Look at you, girl. If little Bobby Hunter could see you now.

Hey! I gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. We were six!

He let out a hearty laugh. So, what are you doing back, you big-shot baking star?

Just that. I shrugged, shaking my head in embarrassment. Mrs. Lanover has been emailing me every week for three months to get me to come back and do a signing in her bookstore.

Oh, that’s right! He snapped his fingers, shaking his head at himself, then tapped the side of his head with two fingers. The thinker ain’t as quick as it once was. I guess three hundred years will do that to ya.

You don’t look a day over one-fifty. That’s pretty good for a halfling.

His warm smile appeared once again. We’re not related, but growing up, Carl always felt like that sweet grandpa who looked out for me, gave me snacks my parents said I couldn’t have, and constantly made me laugh.

Ah, I’ve missed you, Rosie. It hasn’t felt the same since you and your father left the cove.

For the first time since our interaction began, both of our smiles faltered. I gazed at the ground, the bright sun still high above us, and the tall redwoods cast long shadows around us. Yeah, I mumbled, unsure if he heard me.

When I looked up, he offered me a knowing nod. "Well, I better let you get going. Everyone’s gonna be going crazy with the big celebrity coming to town." He made an exaggerated motion, lifting his hands high.

Oh, stop that. I waved him off, laughing again. It was good to see you, Carl.

You too, Rosie. Don’t be a stranger, okay?

I’ll do my best.

As I started my car back up, Carl got into his truck and pulled out in front of me, turning around to head the other way, giving me one more wave. I continued on my way, which was only a few more miles. I crested the hill, and the rest of the way toward the small, bay town three hundred miles north of San Francisco was downhill.

I almost forgot how quaint it looked from the outside. Like one of those Americana picturesque shots or a Norman Rockwell painting. Those passing through would never guess the kinds of people that lived there. Witches and wizards, shifters, and even a few vampires. Off the coast, there lived a pod of mermaids, but they didn’t come into town much. Carl was half merman but was an outcast because he never developed his fins on account that his mother was human and his father was a merman. Growing up, he found a home in Greylock Cove.

The cove was a paranormal community I loved growing up in. When I moved away with my father, I stopped using my magic as much … except, of course, during my baking. How do you think I landed my recipe book deal? My cupcakes were magical, in more ways than one. And, no, it’s not cheating to use magic in cupcake recipes. Every baker has their family recipes. Mine just had a sprinkle of magic here and there.

I invited Dad to visit the cove with me. When we moved away, we found ourselves in a small community out in southern Arizona. He said to tell everyone hi, but he wasn’t coming back. The memories, even if they happened fifteen years ago, were just too painful for him. I didn’t push him on it. We both lost something all those years ago.

After I finished high school in Arizona, I made my way into Los Angeles, attended pastry school, had a small baking stint in France, but finally came back to LA and made it my home by opening my own bakery. Most of my delicious recipes were actually my mother’s. Not only do I have her magic grimoires, but I’ve reread her recipe grimoires many more times than any of her other books.

As I drove down to Greylock, I passed the first major road, and a loud honk sounded from off on the side. Sitting on a dirt road was an old, rusty Jeep with flaking red paint, and the front left headlight was smashed in. In the front of the truck, waving at me from behind the windshield with a huge grin and muttonchops coming down nearly to his chin, sat Harry Delaney.

Hey, Harry! I yelled out to him, sticking my hand out as I passed.

Memories bubbled up of myself and Bonnie, my best friend growing up, rummaging through his grimoires in his fish and tackle shop that sits on Fourth Street. It’s so funny. Looking back on everything, it makes me wonder how an old town hid in plain sight with magical and strange residents. I guess it helped that almost everyone knew everyone else.

Most of the residents of Greylock Cove had been so for decades, if not longer. Residents like the Pullyups. Mr. and Mrs. Pullyup ran a bed-and-breakfast that sat along the shore and did so for the better part of two hundred years. They were two of only a handful of vampires who lived in Greylock. The Pullyups would get the occasional hunters or fisherman, but many of their vacancies were filled by other paranormal couples, usually on a weekend getaway.

Regular humans visited the cove, too, but not very often. That’s why Carl and the other deputies patrol the outskirts. If regulars passed through, the sheriff station radioed it in so the citizens of Greylock could keep their guard up. For the most part, though, Greylock was a quaint little ocean town that all of us residents loved.

Ha, listen to me. Us? Dad and I moved just after I turned sixteen. I hadn’t been back in fifteen years. I guess once someplace is home, it never leaves you.

Chapter

Two

Iwas at Mrs. Lanover’s bookstore, the Happy Bookworm, for nearly two hours for the signing event. The middle-aged witch was the nicest bookstore owner I ever knew and, during the signing, was nothing but accommodating. I hadn’t done very many book signings. I preferred staying in the kitchen of the bakery in LA over heading out to sign books, but it was nice of her to invite me up to Greylock. I hadn’t been back since we moved, and to be honest, I didn’t have any real plans to visit any time soon, but she was relentless. In the end, I figured what harm could come from going back to the hometown I grew up in? At the very least, I’d be able to see my best friend before I left.

There were bound to be a few faces I didn’t recognize or remember, though. There were small communities like Greylock all over the country. The residents who called these places home knew everyone, but there were always a few coming and going. Witches and wizards who were looking for a new place to call home. Shifters trying to start over. Vampires occasionally, though vampires mostly stayed in the north-eastern states. Mr. and Mrs. Pullyup were two of the founding members of Greylock Cove. They, along with a pack of shifters, and a small coven of witches founded the coastal town.

Here you go, Rosie. Dasha handed me a bottled water. Did you want lemons? I can get you lemons. Although, she tapped her lip in thought, I don’t have a knife, so I wouldn’t be able to cut any slices for you to squeeze into the bottle. Oh! I know, I can go down the street to Ms. Keely’s. She’s bound to have a—

Dasha, I stopped her, giggling. It’s fine. You’ve been more than accommodating. The bottle is perfect.

Oh. At first, she reacted almost as if I scolded her. Then my words seemed to finally makes sense, and she smiled. Okay. Thank you again for letting me tag along with you here. And for signing both of my books.

I laughed once more, shaking my head. Dasha was fifteen, and from the moment I stepped into Mrs. Lanover’s bookstore, she was flanking my side, waiting on my every move. She considered herself a baker, though not as great as me—her words, not mine. Even though she wasn’t born in time to taste any of my mother’s delicious treats, I guess her mom had always told her how great they were. When my first recipe book came out five years ago, she bought it and told me she cooked every cake, cookie, muffin, and cupcake I detailed in the book ten times over. She was a sweet girl. She reminded me a little of myself when I was growing up and first getting into baking. A young witch dreaming of cupcakes and frosting.

Hi. I turned back to the next guest in line, brushing my dark hair out of my face. Who should I make it out to?

Debbie, please, the lady said with a smile, strands of gray floating through her brown hair.

I offered her a smile in return and then signed the cookbook for her. Obviously, there were quite a few people I remembered from growing up, but then there were others like Debbie. I didn’t recognize her. I didn’t know if she traveled to Greylock Cove for this signing or if she was a new resident in town.

Another thirty minutes went by, and Dasha was still as amped up as she was when I first arrived at the bookstore. A wide smile laced her face as she looked over at me, readying herself for any request I may have. It earned another laugh out of me.

Who should I make it out to? I asked the next person in line without looking up.

How about the person you stole half of your recipes from? a shrill voice answered back.

Excuse me?

When I looked up, it took everything in my power to not let an angry wave of magic out when I saw her eyes. Grace Fennigan. Tall, dark, curly hair, with an upturned nose. Her brown eyes were all the darker as she stood in