Death by Chocolate Chip Cupcake by Sarah Graves EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Sarah Graves
- Language: English
- Genre: Cozy Culinary Mystery
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
If I’d known right up front that so many dead bodies would be involved,
I’d have vetoed the chocolate pizza. Besides, I was already busy reinventing
the chocolate chip cupcake.
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And then there was the earthquake. “Did you feel it?” my friend Ellie
White wanted to know when we arrived that morning to our small,
chocolate-themed bakery, The Chocolate Moose.
The brief, gentle shaking had happened at four a.m., just in time for me
to not be able to get back to sleep.
“Yes,” I said, “but I doubt it really was one.” Everyone knew Maine
didn’t have earthquakes.
“The U.S. Geological Survey thinks it was,” Ellie countered. “It was on
the radio. A two-point-four, they said.”
Okay, so I’d been wrong. As it turned out there was a well-known fault
line not far from us at all, along the shore on the mainland near the St.
Croix River.
Well known to geologists, anyway. It seemed that a Maine island town
could get as shook up as anywhere else, just not as often.
“That’s all news to me,” I told Ellie when she’d filled me in on the
details.
Still, the event was over and likely wouldn’t happen again. So we
dropped the subject, and it wasn’t until later that afternoon that she
mentioned another thing she’d been mulling.
“I want,” she began, “a . . .”
You guessed it. “. . . a chocolate pizza,” she finished.
“Do you, now?” I answered cautiously as I glanced out the shop’s front
bay window. On that damp, late-September afternoon, shadows had already
begun gathering between the two-story brick or wood-framed storefront
buildings on Water Street, across from the harbor in the remote island
village of Eastport, Maine.
“To sell by the slice, you mean . . . ?” I let my voice trail off into
deliberate uncertainty.
We’d closed early, due to not having even one customer all day. I was
scrubbing out the drinks cooler and thinking about how the cupcakes I was
inventing had to have real whipped cream filling, not the spray-can kind.
“Both,” she called from back in the kitchen, where she was baking
chocolate pinwheel cookies. “Slices, or whole pizzas.”
Drizzle streaked the window looking onto the gray, empty street. On a
day like today it was good to be warm and indoors. Too bad everyone else
thought so, too; see not even one customer, above.
“Also, it has to be great chocolate pizza,” said Ellie.
Due in part to the treasured old baked-goods recipes that Ellie’s
grandmother had passed down to her—the other part was plain hard work—
the Moose had an excellent reputation and we didn’t want to risk damaging
it.
“Not too sweet, though, not cloying,” Ellie said, tapping a wooden spoon
into the palm of her hand. “With hazelnuts, maybe?”
For our work that day she wore a white cotton turtleneck, red quilted
vest, and denim jeans, with a blue chambray smock top pulled on over all of
them, plus white Keds. In that outfit I’d have looked like somebody getting
ready to clean out a bunch of stables; she looked like a million bucks.
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