Arrested By the Deputy (Heroes of Whispering Pines #12)

Chapter 1

HAZEL

The oven timer ticks in the background, a steady countdown that used to calm me and at this moment is just reminding me how little time I have left.

Butter My Biscuit smells like vanilla and sugar.

Flour dusts the black-and-white tile like a light snow, and three cake stands sit empty on the counter, waiting for what's supposed to be my most important order yet.

Whispering Pines sleeps outside my window.

Main Street is dark except for the streetlamp in front of the shop and the neon "OPEN" sign I never bothered to switch off.

Two in the morning, and the only sounds are the hum of my walk-in cooler and my own heartbeat, which has been picking up speed for the last twenty minutes.

That's what's on the line tonight.

"No, no, no!"

My stomach is nauseous and my heart is thumping as I reach over to my prep table.

There should be another stick of butter.

There has to be another stick of butter.

I can't substitute it, not for this recipe.

My bakery is on the verge of hitting it big, here in Whispering Pines.

I'm starting to have lines, and I've been selling out before my closing time.

But this? This could make or break me.

The biggest event venue in the area has requested three of my cakes to help them stage their new photo shoot tomorrow. They requested very particular parameters, including buttercream only. "How the fuck can I make buttercream if I have no butter?"

I rush over to the fridge, and make sure that I really am out. When I've pulled everything out, and there's nothing left, I know I'm well and truly screwed. "This can't be happening." I'm always so careful with what I order, and make sure I have plenty of stock.

But then I remember. I took a last minute order two days ago for a daycare that requested a few dozen chocolate chip cookies.

I'd taken it, and loved the looks on the faces of all the little kids.

But I must have forgotten to re-order. This won't work.

I can't lose this order for the event venue.

I'm so close to turning a corner. My followers on social media have been steadily growing, and people are starting to recommend me in our local group, Spotted in Whispering Pines.

It's two in the morning, though, and there isn't any place open in an hour radius.

No big box store open twenty-four hours, and our little convenience store closed at midnight.

There's no one awake, I know all of my friends.

They are in bed by eleven, and I have no food at my house.

Maybe an old bottle of ketchup and some pickles.

"What am I going to do?" I run a hand through my hair, and grab my phone. My hands are shaking as I search for a solution to this problem. I do one more search, and realize that there isn't much I can do.

Looking out the back window of my shop, I see the local grocery store.

It's not a big chain, people still buy stuff there on credit.

Just Earl's place, family owned since before I was born, with a hand-painted sign that needs touching up and a bell over the door that everyone in town could recognize with their eyes closed.

"Could I?" I question as an idea is starting to form in the back of my mind. "What else do I have to lose?" I shrug, walking out the back door, and heading toward the store.

When I was a teenager, I learned how to pick locks, because the apartment my dad and I lived in had a sticky door.

I haven't done it in years, but going around to the back of the store, I see a door that's a possibility for me to pick.

"Hazel, you'll be committing a crime," I remind myself.

"But how many times have you given them day-old baked goods to sell?

If you just explain this to them, they'll forgive you. "

It sounds plausible, and before I can talk myself out of it, I pick the lock, and go inside.

They don't even have an alarm. At least not one that's going off.

I'm sure it could be silent. My mind is focused on one thing, and that's the butter I need for the buttercream.

Within minutes, I have what I need, and I'm heading back across the street.

Thirty minutes later, I'm frosting the last of the cakes. I've finished putting it in the box I'll be presenting it to the venue to, when I hear someone beating at the front door of my shop.

"Whispering Pines Sheriff's Office. Open the door!"

Oh my God, what in the world is happening? The only time the cops have been here is to get some of my pastries.

"I'll be there in just a minute," I yell, putting the cakes in the cake refrigerator, and run to the front door. Throwing it open, I'm struck almost stupid by the man standing on the landing of Butter My Biscuit.

It's Cal Sutton. He and I went to high school together, and I always had a crush on him. The way he fills out his uniform should be studied, because I could almost drool. Probably would if I wasn't so tired.

"What's going on?" I ask, wiping my hands off on my apron. "Is there something I should be worried about?"

He tips his head back, looking up at the sky as if he's trying to search for an answer to a question.

"Someone called in saying that they noticed a person in the grocery store across the street.

Said they had a cell phone with a flashlight on, and looked like they'd gone in and taken something. Would you like to comment on that?"

"Oh shit..."

"Was that you, Hazel?"

"Let me explain," I start.

"So you did steal something?"

"It wasn't like that." I close my eyes. "I needed butter to finish up this order, and I ran out.

No place was open..." I realize how horrible this sounds, and when I see his hand reaching for his handcuffs, I know what's going to happen.

"I did steal it, but I was going to pay for it tomorrow.

Will you at least let me leave a note for my workers who open in the morning, so they don't think something has happened to me? "

"Go ahead and leave the note. Then I'll have to place you under arrest."

Actions have consequences, I remind myself. But it doesn't make any of this easier.