Better Off Shortbread

With visions of chocolate dipped peanut butter fingers, sour cream jumbles and fruity hand pies, Scottie Ramone’s vintage bakery dream is well on its way to becoming reality. The contractor and his team are hard at work transforming the space. Her shopfront may not be open quite yet, but Scottie is already serving up delicious treats in Ripple Creek. Her buttery shortbread biscuits quickly become a favorite in Roxi’s market.

Summer has come and gone leaving a spectacular fall in its wake. When the Nature Quest Photography Club comes to town, Scottie’s new friend, Cade Rafferty, invites her to join him for a photography class on Blue Jay Ridge. The club is an interesting mix of photographers, both professional and amateur. It’s immediately apparent that there’s no shortage of secrets between the club members. When one of the prominent photographers plunges to his death, suspicions are raised. Was it an unfortunate accident or something more sinister?

Dalton Braddock, Ripple Creek Ranger and Scottie’s longtime crush is called to the scene. Before long, Scottie finds herself deep in her third murder case right alongside the man who still, after all these years, makes her knees quake like jelly.

"Scottie, you're as giddy as a Chihuahua," I muttered to myself as I stood in the half-finished kitchen of my future bakery. It was a phrase my grandmother, Nana, used to say when I was younger and overly excited about an upcoming event like a sleepover with friends or Christmas morning. She'd grown up with a tiny Chihuahua named Ollie who would get so excited about a walk or a treat he'd tremble until he tinkled. Fortunately, I'd always managed to avoid the embarrassment of a tinkle, but as a child I did occasionally get so excited and nervous I'd throw up, like on the way to school for my solar system presentation in third grade when I tossed my breakfast in Nana's car. We had to throw Saturn away, leaving my model a planet short. (Arguably, the best planet with its showy rings). I could easily sympathize with Ollie.

"Scottie, we're going to have to move the work table two inches to the right to bring the kitchen up to code on oven clearance," Cody's remark pulled me from my thoughts.

"Not a problem," I said.

Cody, my general contractor, was a sturdily-built forty-something man with greasy hair and an impressive tattoo of a German Shepherd on the back of his forearm. Brutus had been his best friend growing up. I'd heard more than one tale, possibly true, possibly embellished, about how Brutus had saved Cody from harm. There was even a story where Cody had fallen into an abandoned mine shaft, and Brutus ran three miles home to summon help. It was hard to know if Cody had grown up watching too many Lassie reruns or if he'd actually had so many misadventures in his youth, he required constant heroism from his amazing dog. Either way, it wasn't for me to question. In fact, true or not, I found the harrowing, happy-ending stories charming. Besides, it was hard not to like a guy with a tattoo of his beloved dog on his arm.

I'd interviewed a parade of contractors, including one that my friend and the town ranger, Dalton Braddock, had recommended. No one could start the job until after winter. That just wasn't going to work. After wasting a month feeling majorly sorry for myself, I was ready to start my dream business of a vintage bakery. I worried (and Nana did as well, though she never said it aloud) that if I had to spend a long, dreary winter with nothing to push me out of bed in the morning, I would fall back into the doldrums that had overtaken me after I left my fiancé, my job and all the trappings of city life.