by Fiona Grace
“Why are you asking me all these questions? You don’t think I had something to do with Gilbert’s death, do you? You’re not accusing me of tampering with the buns, are you?”
Her accusation caught Ali off guard. “Tampering with the buns? Who said anything about tampering with the buns?”
The shake in her voice betrayed her, and Eunbi’s skeptical expression turned positively frosty.
“Oh I see,” she said in a cold, blunt voice. “So even though you and I were together the whole time during the baking, you still think I somehow had the chance to tip a glug of oyster sauce into the batter? Without you noticing either the color change? Or the smell?”
Ali paused. That was a very good point, and one she’d not yet considered. She was a highly trained chef. She knew what her recipes looked and smelled like. There was no way Eunbi could have slipped something as pungent as oyster sauce into the batter without her immediately noticing. The only way would be if she was drunk…
Ali’s gaze slid down to the wine glass in her hand. She recalled how Eunbi had suggested they have a drink before baking. Had she done that on purpose to make Ali less perceptive? At the time she’d thought it was because the woman had a more free-spirited and fun-loving personality than she did. But perhaps there was another reason she’d wanted to get Ali tipsy that night. Perhaps there was a reason she wanted to now.
“You’re right about this cheap wine,” Ali said, standing. “It’s gross.”
She paced over to the vanity mirror and dresser and placed the glass down, then checked for Eunbi’s reaction in the reflection. Nothing. She was simply staring down. With shame? Grief? What was going through her mind?
“I didn’t kill Gilbert, Ali,” Eunbi said, quietly. “I know what you’re thinking. I know why you’re thinking it. But it wasn’t me.”
She sounded so genuine Ali desperately wanted to believe her.
Suddenly, Ali’s mind switched to the vital clue she’d found in the marquee tent. The ripped open packet of oyster sauce. The piece of evidence Detective Elton had confidently declared was the murder weapon.
The contamination had not happened at the bakery. Whoever had poisoned Gilbert had done it at the venue, moments before the competitors had taken to the stage. Someone had committed the dastardly deed right there and then, brazenly. But that someone could still be Eunbi.
Perhaps she was so smart, she’d actually set up a cover situation so she could prove she didn’t put the sauce in the batter while cooking, specifically to deflect attention from the fact she slipped in and poisoned the food right before the contest began?
“I never saw you before the contest started,” Ali stated. “I didn’t see you or any of the other contestants backstage, actually. Where were you all?”
“In the performers’ tent,” Eunbi explained. “It’s a bit like the green room at a special event. We all congregate there together.”
“All of you?” Ali pressed. If all the competitors could vouch for each other, then that meant they all had alibis. She’d be able to strike off all those suspects in one go.
“Yes,” Eunbi stated. “All of us. Ask anyone. We were all together.” She frowned with curiosity. “Why do you ask? Do you think the oyster sauce was planted the day of the contest? Before we went on stage?”
Ali hesitated. It seemed like Eunbi had a bit of a natural inner sleuth inside of her as well. And while Ali still hadn’t had the chance to test Eunbi’s alibi yet, she wondered whether it would be more useful right now to act like she believed her. Eunbi was more likely to give her information if she thought they were on the same side.
“There was a packet of sauce found in the catering tent,” Ali admitted.
Eunbi looked immediately troubled by this revelation. “It was an inside job.”
Ali nodded slowly. “Looks that way.”
Eunbi started to shake. “One of us? I can’t believe it. We’re like a family. But then you don’t get as successful as Gilbert without losing a few friends along the way…”
Something in her tone piqued Ali’s curiosity. “You have an idea who it might be, don’t you?”
Eunbi wrung her hands in her lap and chewed on her bottom lip. It looked like the thought of casting the eye of suspicion on one of her own was killing her. Either that, or she wanted Ali to think it was.
“I don’t know,” she murmured noncommittally. “I mean we’re like family, but even families have secrets. Gilbert and Bob for example, have had a really longstanding rivalry.”
“Really?” Ali asked, turning it over in her mind curiously. “How come?”
“Because Gilbert always beats him,” Eunbi explained. “Bob is always in second place. Always in his shadow.”
“Does he resent it?” Ali asked.
“Wouldn’t you?” Eunbi replied.
Ali took a beat to consider what she was hearing. Bob had been in second place during the contest. He had only won by default because of Gilbert’s disqualification. Had he killed Gilbert just so he could win? Had years of rivalry, of always being second fiddle, of never being good enough to win, finally pushed him over the edge? Could it be that Bob had simply reached the end of his tether this time and had decided to take matters into his own hands?
If what Eunbi was telling her was accurate, then Bob had more motive than anyone to take out Gilbert The Gobbler.
“Is Bob staying at this inn?” Ali asked.
Eunbi nodded. “We all are.”
Ali motioned for the door. But Eunbi reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
She gazed up at her with dark, troubled eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“I have to question him, Eunbi,” Ali said. “You know I do. If Bob killed Gilbert, the truth has to come out, however painful it may be. I can’t take the fall for this and I won’t let any of my friends take the fall either.”
With a heavy sigh, Eunbi let go of Ali’s arm. She nodded reluctantly.
“Bob’s in room twenty,” she said in a small, sad voice.
And just like that, Ali had her next lead.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ali trembled with anxiety as she paced along the carpeted corridor of Willow Bay Inn, counting the gold door numbers as she went.
Sixteen…seventeen…eighteen…
She really wished Scruff could be with her, rather than waiting outside on the steps. She could do with the moral support right now, and who better to bolster her than the dog she’d grown so fond of?
Nineteen…Twenty.
She halted. Behind door number twenty might lay all the answers to the mystery of Gilbert’s death, and Ali took a moment to steady her racing heartbeat. She could very well be about to knock on a killer’s door and confront him. She mentally psyched herself up, then knocked firmly on Bob’s door.
It opened slowly, with a creak, no more than an inch. Ali’s heart hammered as she tipped her head sideways attempting to see through the gap. But beyond lay only darkness.
“Bob?” she called out.
Her voice was met by silence.
Ali was about to push the door open when it was suddenly pulled inward, fully wide, and Bottomless Pit Bob bounced right into view wearing nothing but his underpants, brandishing a lamp in his good arm.
Ali’s heart flew into her mouth and she reeled back in shock. “Stop!” she cried, bringing her hands up to protect her face.
“What do you want?” Bob demanded, shaking the lamp threateningly, waving it in her face like a sword. His eyes flashed wildly.
Despite Ali’s attempts to prepare herself for anything, nothing could have prepared her for that!
“Bob!” she cried, bringing her hands up in a truce. “It’s me! Ali Sweet! You were in my bakery yesterday!”
“I know who you are!” Bob yelled back, shaking the lamp again, his bloodshot eyes growing even wider. “You’re the one who killed my friend!”
Tremors of fear peeled through Ali’s whole body. She wished once again for Scru
ff to appear. The little stray was very protective of her and would never let anyone threaten her like that, not without giving them a bite or two for their troubles. And considering how vulnerable Bob currently was standing there in nothing but his underpants, the last thing he needed was a bite!
“I didn’t kill Gilbert!” Ali yelled.
“Yes you did!” Bob cried. “You’re the person who made the food that poisoned him!”
He looked crazed, and tears were running down his cheeks in earnest. Any confidence Ali had about Bob being the culprit all but vanished. Eunbi had made it sound like he hated Gilbert, like he was annoyed at always being in his shadow. But seeing him now, she could tell he was even more cut up about Gilbert’s death than even Eunbi was.
“If I killed Gilbert, why would I be here?” Ali cried.
“To kill me, too!” Bob yelled, waving the lamp.
“I’m investigating!” Ali exclaimed. “So, please. Just put the lamp down. Let’s talk.”
For the first time, Bob faltered. Rather than crazed and paranoid, he looked vulnerable standing there in his white pants, with his belly hanging over the top of the waistband.
He slowly lowered the lamp. “You’re investigating?”
“Yes,” Ali assured him. “Someone murdered your friend, and they’re trying to pin it on me. I’m not your enemy, Bob. Someone else is.”
For some reason, her words seemed to be getting through. Bob seemed to be coming back to his senses. His gaze darted left and right down the corridor.
“You’d better get inside,” he said, ushering her into his unlit hotel room.
As Ali scurried into the hotel room, Bob checked the corridor both ways once more, then shut the door behind them with a click.
Immediately, the light from the hallway was cut off and darkness descended. A tingle went up Ali’s spine. If her hunch was wrong, she was now standing inside the pitch-black room of a paranoid, crazy, potentially unstable murderer.
She heard the scraping sound of the lock being clicked into place and gulped. Now she was trapped. There was no way out. If she’d gotten too close to the truth and Bob wanted her out of the way forever, she had handed him the perfect opportunity to do so.
“Sit,” Bob’s voice commanded behind her.
“Where?” Ali replied, fighting to keep her own voice steady. “I can’t see a thing.”
Suddenly, light flooded the room. Ali turned to see Bob crouching by the wall socket. The lamp he’d been using as a weapon was plugged in.
“Sorry,” he said, standing back up. “The main light’s broken.”
Now that she could see, Ali’s fear began to subside a little. Bob’s room was just as modest as Eunbi’s, with dated, dark wood furnishing and faded floral curtains. With only a single lamp to light the place, it also had a strange, seedy feel about it, like Ali wouldn’t be surprised to find a bunch of mobsters playing pool and smoking cigars in the bathroom.
She felt some of the fear ebb out of her. It certainly helped that Bob was no longer brandishing a makeshift weapon in her face.
“Do you really think you can find out who killed Gilbert?” came Bob’s voice, breaking through her ruminations.
Ali turned to face him.
“I do,” she said confidently. “But I need your help.”
Bob blinked, looked perplexed. “Me? How?”
“I need you to be honest with me and answer my questions. That’s the only way I can build up a clear picture and get to the truth.”
Bob sank down onto the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumped as if Ali’s statement about honesty and truth were heavy weights pulling him down. He made for a pitiful figure.
“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”
“Good,” Ali replied.
She lowered herself into the chair next to the dresser. She still didn’t trust Bob, especially after his paranoid, lamp-wielding routine, and she perched on the edge of her seat ready to run for the door if she needed to.
She cleared her throat and began in a calm voice. “You and Gilbert were rivals for years. Is that right?”
“On the stage and TV,” Bob replied. “But in reality we’re pretty close. Were close, I should say.” He sniffed loudly, and tears began to roll down his big apple cheeks once again.
“But your goal was to beat him one day,” Ali pushed. “Wasn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“And you never did. Until yesterday…”
Bob’s head darted up and he narrowed his eyes, glaring at her with offense. Ali couldn’t blame him. It was a loaded statement. Any fool could read right between lines.
“Yesterday’s win doesn’t count,” Bob snapped. “At least, not as far as I’m concerned. I wanted to beat Gilbert, yes, but I wanted to do it fair and square. I wanted to be the best, not the best by default. This victory is cheap. Not to mention the steep cost. If I didn’t have debt to pay, I’d turn down the win altogether.”
“You need the money?” Ali queried. “What for?”
Bob pressed his lips together like he’d suddenly realized he’d said too much. “Same as anyone needs money,” he mumbled, noncommittally. “Rent. Bills.” He shrugged, trying to play it off nonchalantly. “This is my job, after all. I work for my payday just like everyone else does.”
Ali watched him cautiously. “Did you need the money so bad you killed your friend for it?”
Her question was like the straw that broke the camel’s back. Bob’s demeanor instantly changed from downtrodden and suspicious to furious and defensive. “You think I poisoned my friend?” he said, leaping to his feet. “How? When?”
Ali stood too. “Before the contest started. Someone contaminated the buns. Was it you?”
“Maybe you should ask all the people who were with me the morning before the contest before you start throwing around accusations?”
“The other competitors?” Ali replied. “Yeah, I heard about this. You’re all one another’s alibi. Kind of convenient.”
“Convenient,” Bob echoed. “I guess it is. Because all the competitors have rooms in the hotel so we can go and ask them.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“Fine.”
Bob marched straight out the door, so wound up by the whole conversation he didn’t even stop to grab his bathrobe. Ali was left floundering, and she raced after him to catch up.
“You know you said you’d be honest with me,” Ali said as she hop-skipped along the corridor after him. “I told you I was going to ask difficult questions.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Bob muttered, his belly jiggling over the tight elastic of his underpants as he stomped angrily along the corridor. “Maybe one day someone will accuse you of being your best friend’s killer, then you’ll know how it feels.”
He halted suddenly outside a door and rapped his knuckles against it.
“Who is that?” a muffled voice sounded from inside, and a moment later, the door was opened and a bleary-eyed man stood before them.
Ali recognized him immediately as one of the competitors, and a horrible feeling of déjà vu overcame her as she remembered the terrible moment Gilbert had staggered off the stage clutching his throat.
“Hunter,” Bob said to the disoriented man. “Can you please tell this nosy woman how it works backstage before the contest?”
“What?” the man replied, blinking against the harsh light beaming from the ugly wall sconces in the corridor.
“I said, please tell this interfering, meddling, downright rude woman, how there’s no way I could have killed Gilbert because I was in the competitors’ tent with you before the contest.”
“That’s true,” the man, Hunter, said. “Now can I go back to sleep? It’s the goddamn middle of the night.” He shut the door in Bob’s face without even waiting for an answer.
“This way!” Bob yelled to Ali, marching off along the corridor.
Ali hopped to keep up. “Look. Bob. S
top. I get it.” She reached for his good arm and halted him. “I’m sorry I offended you. But I understand now. You’re a family. A tight-knit group. But the truth of the matter is, it had to have been an inside job. The security guard wouldn’t have let anyone get past without the right pass. I know from experience.”
Bob put his hands on his hips. “But you know there’s a bunch more people backstage than just the competitors. There’s the staff. The camera crew. Mad Frank…”
Ali gasped. Mad Frank! Of course!
All this time, she’d been thinking the motive could be revenge or payback. Some kind of crime of passion. But what if it was something different entirely? A crime of… convenience. What if Mad Frank himself had poisoned one of the competitors for the media buzz? For the attention. The man dressed as a pirate, for goodness’ sake, he was clearly fond of attention.
She looked at Bob, her nerves crackling now with the sudden lead. “What do you think?”
Bob shook his head. “Frank? The killer? No. No way. Having a competitor die makes his contest look bad.”
“It also stirs up controversy.”
“There are other ways to do that! Better ways.”
“Like neon flyers?” Ali shot back. “Compare them to the amount of noise Gilbert’s death generated online.”
She was thinking specifically of the Armchair Sleuths website Piper was hooked on. It had taken barely any time for the forum to explode with content. Gilbert’s death had generated a huge amount of buzz, and as loath as Ali was to admit it, that sort of free publicity was worth its weight in gold.
Ali started pacing back and forth.
“Think about how it went down at the contest,” she said, expanding on her thoughts. “Mad Frank kept MCing even when it was obvious Gilbert was having difficulties. He made a joke while he was staggering off the stage. He didn’t show any genuine concern for Gilbert’s welfare at all. And he even left his mic on so the staff member who told him about the death “accidentally” broadcast it to the entire audience.” She paused and looked at Bob. “And all this while the cameras were rolling.” She clapped. “The buzz was immediate.”
