A TREACHEROUS TART

by Fiona Grace

  Bob blinked at her. “I mean…I guess.”

  He didn’t sound convinced that his costume-wearing boss could orchestrate such a thing, but his reticence did nothing to diminish Ali’s enthusiasm. She felt like she was really onto something now and her thoughts collided in her mind to form a coherent picture.

  “Is Frank staying at this hotel too?” she asked Bob.

  He laughed like he’d never heard something so ridiculous. “No, of course not. He always stays at a luxury one. The best in town.”

  Ali knew exactly where the best hotel in town was. In the swanky downtown area to the east. And it was run by…Sullivan Raine. The very man whose company’s name had been emblazoned across the banner at the contest and announced in place of Seth’s.

  Figures… Ali thought, adding the new pieces of information to the picture she was painting of Mad Frank in her head.

  She headed for the door.

  “Wait,” Bob said. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to speak to Frank.”

  “Are you going to accuse him of murder?” Bob looked pained at the thought.

  “I’m just going to ask him some questions. Get some clarification.”

  She paused at the door and regarded the poor man sitting on the bed. He looked so sad, with his belly hanging out and his broken arm, and his tear-stained face. She felt compelled to say something.

  “I know it’s hard to think one of your own betrayed you. But Gilbert deserves the truth.”

  Bob simply hung his head and began to softly weep.

  Ali left, shutting the door quietly behind her as the sound of crying followed her back along the corridor.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ali was in full on sleuthing mode as she raced in the direction of the Raine Hotel, nestled in its ocean-facing hillside spot among the trees, its windows glittering in the darkness. Her mind was buzzing with a theory that seemed as outlandish and conspiratorial as Carys’s. But it also made perfect sense to her that the person who’d killed Gilbert would be his money-hungry boss.

  Ali was so distracted by her thoughts, she forgot all about Scruff, and the sound of a bark coming from behind startled her.

  Her footsteps clattered to a halt on the boardwalk and she swirled around. The stray was bounding toward her, helicoptering his tail as he ran.

  He must have been waiting for her the whole time she’d been inside the Willow Bay Inn speaking to Eunbi and Bob, and the thought filled Ali with gratitude. It made all the difference to know he had her back during this whole fraught adventure to clear her name. That she was not alone.

  She bent down and opened her arms. Scruff jumped right into them.

  “Hi, Li’l Dude,” she said as he licked her face. “Looks like it’s just you and me against the world.”

  She glanced in the direction of the Raine Hotel and found her resolve, then placed Scruff down.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

  She marched onward.

  Sullivan Raine’s new hotel was, on the inside, exactly how Ali had expected. In many ways, it was an extension of the Texan property mogul’s personality—loud, flashy, and overbearing. The floors were made of marble. Gold statues and big chandeliers adorned the place. In one corner was a grand piano, where a woman in a slinky red silk dress played a jazzy number, and a long, large black granite bar stretched across the entire width of the room, filled to the brim with every type of liquor in the world.

  Ali could very easily picture Sullivan Raine stomping around the place with his puffed out chest and cowboy boots. What she couldn’t picture was the usual tourists to Willow Bay enjoying a place like this. And indeed, they did not, because it was extremely quiet inside—just one barman cleaning glasses and a couple of waiting staff attending to a small group of diners sitting at one of the low side tables. Clearly this was not the sort of place Mad Frank fans could afford to stay at.

  But there was someone sitting at the bar that Ali recognized immediately as being associated with the Mad Frank family. Because they were still dressed in their zany pirate costume. It was none other than Mad Frank himself.

  Ali clenched her hands into fists. Mad Frank was celebrating when one of his competitors was lying dead in the morgue? She couldn’t believe how disrespectful his behavior was. That fact alone pushed him all the way up her suspect list to the top.

  Just then, she heard a bark from behind and turned to see Scruff standing in the open doorway like a sentry. Ali held up her palm, telling him to wait. If the dog got inside, she’d be thrown out for sure and lose her chance to interrogate Mad Frank.

  Luckily, Scruff seemed to understand. He stayed where he was, wagging his tail with expectation.

  Ali took a deep breath and turned back to the bar. Finding her confidence, she marched over and slid onto the stool beside Mad Frank. She leaned her chin on her fist. “How’s it going?” she said.

  Mad Frank turned to look at her, his eyelids heavy with booze. He had dark purple bags under his eyes and looked like he was wearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. He also stank of alcohol and seemed so sloshed he could barely stay upright on his stool.

  Ali realized he wasn’t celebrating at all. He was grieving…

  “Well, hello there,” he slurred.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” Ali continued.

  “Should I?” Mad Frank replied with a hiccup, and he reached out to touch her blonde braid with his fingertips.

  Figures, Ali thought, swishing her braid behind her shoulder out of reach. From all she’d learned of Mad Frank, it seemed like he didn’t care very much about the external hire staff who worked for him.

  “I’m the baker,” she told him. “Ali Sweet.”

  Mad Frank’s expression turned suddenly hostile. “The baker who poisoned my best friend?”

  Ali tutted and shook her head. “Everyone keeps saying that, but no one’s looking at the facts of the matter. This was an inside job. If anyone here is a killer, it’s you!”

  So much for subtlety. All her plans flew out the window. She was just too frustrated with everyone pointing the finger of blame at her to fake it anymore.

  She braced herself, expecting Mad Frank to lose it like Bob had. But instead, the fight seemed to go right out of him. He stared down into his whiskey glass as if searching for the answer to all of life’s problems.

  “I didn’t kill Gil,” Mad Frank said, sounding defeated. “Why would I?”

  Ali didn’t know what to make of his change in demeanor. One minute he’d been accusing her of being the killer, but the second she turned the tables on him he seemed to deflate. It felt to Ali a little bit like he was admitting to his guilt?

  “Why don’t you tell me?” she said, turning the question back on him. “What reason would you have to kill Gilbert Brown? Attention?” The sort of man who dressed as a pirate and spent his life on stage in front of adoring crowds presumably craved it.

  Mad Frank let out a derisive snort. “Attention? For being liable for someone dying during my contest? That’s not the sort of thing you want following around.”

  “Money, then?” Ali offered. “I suspect a whole load of media types will be clamoring for interviews with you after this. Surely that will only add to the Mad Frank kudos.”

  He shook his head. “You think this is going to do my business any good? I’m ruined.” He grabbed his whiskey glass and drained it.

  “Hatred, then?” Ali suggested, not letting up for a second. “A longstanding grudge.”

  Mad Frank glowered at her with a drunk, dopey, unfocused gaze. He was starting to get riled again, she could tell, and that was exactly where she wanted him. Emotional, heated up, and more likely to blab.

  “He’s my oldest friend,” Mad Frank said. “My best friend. Me and Gil go way back. He was my best man. At all seven of my weddings!”

  He thrust his hand into his pocket and Ali leapt up, terrified he was about to pull a weapon on her
. But instead, he pulled out his wallet and a concertina of photos in plastic wallets came flying out.

  “See!” he continued, thrusting them toward her. “Here we are. Me and Gilbert at wedding one. Me and Gilbert at wedding two…”

  Ali scanned the photos as he flicked through them. There were many pictures including Gilbert, Frank, and Bob as well, going way back into the past, at various special occasions together—weddings, christenings, Christmases.

  Now she could see the extent to their friendship, Ali felt uncertain. But was there a slim chance something had recently soured between them? She needed to do some more prying to find out. But would Mad Frank talk? She’d already insulted him quite badly by accusing him in the first place. How could she repair the bridge to get him to talk?

  “Let me get you a drink,” Ali said.

  Mad Frank looked down into his empty glass, then back up at her. “Sure. Whiskey.” Then he frowned. “Wait. Who are you again?”

  Ali smirked. He was so drunk he’d already forgotten their earlier encounter. That was too easy.

  “Just a fan,” she said, smiling sweetly.

  This time, she was going to make sure she kept on his good side.

  “Oh,” Mad Frank said, sinking into his stool.

  Ali waved to the barman. “Whiskey, please.”

  *

  By the time Ali staggered out of the Raine Hotel, she felt dazed. Her conversation with Mad Frank had gone in endless circles, making her head spin and leaving her dizzy. But despite the infuriating Groundhog Day situation, one thing had remained consistent: Mad Frank’s answers. For a drunk, barely coherent man to keep a lie straight was unheard of. But not once did Mad Frank divert from his statements. He and Gilbert Brown were lifelong buddies, there was no bad blood between them, and he was as devastated by his death as the rest of them. Which meant Ali was back at square one without any leads to pursue.

  Ali headed down the hill in the direction of the boardwalk. She’d made it ten paces when Scruff came rushing to her side.

  She reached down and petted him between the ears.

  “I don’t know, boy,” she said with a sigh. “Looks like I’ve hit another dead end.”

  He barked sympathetically.

  Ali yawned deeply. It had been a long, long day, and she felt exhausted. She was also at the end of her trail.

  “Maybe we should go home? Sleep on it?”

  He barked a yes, and they headed away. Tomorrow was another day, and Ali was determined that it would be the last day Gilbert Brown’s murder remained unsolved. She just had to find that clue. That one little nugget. It was out there, somewhere. She just had to find it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ali was woken by the sound of pounding on her door. She sat up, blinking, surprised to discover herself sitting on the couch. She must’ve fallen straight to sleep the moment she got home.

  Scruff was on the couch beside her, curled up into a little ball, snoring blissfully. He raised his head as the pounding on the door continued and let out a disgruntled whine.

  Bleary-eyed and disoriented, Ali dragged her tired body off the couch and went to the door. She was just about to open it when she paused. Memories of yesterday evening’s interrogations of the Mad Frank posse came flooding back to her, and she recalled the way every single person she’d spoken to seemed to think she was the killer. What if that was some crazed Gilbert The Gobbler fan banging on her door to exact revenge?

  She pressed her ear against the door instead. “Who is it?” she called.

  A small voice floated through. “Carys.”

  “Carys?” Ali repeated, frowning with confusion. What possible reason did her ex’s new girlfriend have to be pounding on her door first thing in the morning?

  She tugged the latch and hauled the door open. The young woman was standing on her doorstep in her dark green Best Hot Dogs polo shirt and red baseball cap, her brown hair held back into its usual glossy ponytail. She was framed by the beach and the calm blue waves, which were at odds with the pained expression on her face.

  Ali’s instant thought was that something had happened to Nate.

  “What is it?” she asked, her heart rate spiking. “Did something happen to Nate?”

  “No, not Nate!” Carys cried, shaking her head so hard her ponytail swung back and forth. “It’s Seth!”

  Ali couldn’t get her brain into gear, but she could hear the urgency in Carys’s voice.

  “Seth?” she echoed.

  “Yes! Seth!” Carys cried, and she grabbed her arm and tried to tug her out the door.

  Ali dug her heels firmly in. “Wait,” she said. “I need my keys. And my phone. And a change of clothes.”

  “There’s no time!” Carys cried, urgently, tugging even harder.

  Whatever was going on with Seth, it was clearly more pressing than a fresh pair of socks, so Ali stopped resisting and Carys pulled her out the door. She reached back to slam the door closed after her, and Scruff came careening out just in the nick of time.

  Together, the three ran along the boardwalk in the early morning sunshine.

  Ali panted as she tried to keep up with Carys.

  “If Delaney could see me now,” she quipped in reference to her super sporty friend who was always trying to whip her into shape.

  The morning air was enough to bring Ali sharply to her senses, and as she watched Carys’s glossy brown ponytail swinging back and forth like a pendulum in front of her, she suddenly remembered all the terrible rumors the vengeful young woman had been spreading about her on the Armchair Sleuths website.

  “Hey,” Ali called ahead, accelerating until she drew up beside her. “Why did you write all those horrible rumors about me online?”

  Carys’s face went bright red. She avoided making eye contact. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Armchair Sleuths,” Ali panted. “SurferC. I may be older than you, but that doesn’t make me computer illiterate. You said I was a cheater.”

  “Well, you are.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “You cheated on Nate.”

  “It wasn’t like that. Nate and I were never really a couple.”

  “That’s not what he thinks.”

  Ali huffed. She didn’t have enough air in her lungs to argue the semantics, and now was obviously not the right time for it. Being called a cheater was not the worst thing Carys had said, and it was definitely not the most damaging.

  Ali reached out and took her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “You accused me of being a serial killer. Why would you do that?”

  Carys’s face went red. Perhaps it was just from the exertion, but Ali hoped Carys felt at least a little bit ashamed about what she’d done.

  She folded her arms defiantly. “You’re always involved in bad stuff. The cops are at your bakery constantly. And you take a weird interest in every crime in Willow Bay.”

  Now it was Ali’s turn to blush. Everything she’d said was true. “That doesn’t give you the right to spread malicious rumors about me online.”

  Carys glowered at her like a petulant child. “We don’t have time for this. Seth needs you.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “The whole world doesn’t revolve around you, Ali.”

  And with that, she took off at a trot along the boardwalk again.

  Their conversation had been thoroughly frustrating. Ali had gotten nowhere with her. It had felt very much like talking to a stubborn teenager. But she was right about Seth needing her right now, so Ali dropped the subject and continued to sprint after her.

  As they drew closer to Best Hot Dogs, Ali spotted the cause of Carys’s panic. Cops. At least two, standing outside the store, beside their two motorbikes.

  Ali squinted ahead and spotted yet more cops and cruisers. It looked like they were raiding Seth’s hot dog store.

  “Oh no!” she cried.

  Her gaze fell to Detective Callihan among the uniformed officers. She beelined for him.

  “Sebastian
? What’s going on?”

  At the sound of her voice, Detective Callihan’s face darted up. He locked eyes with her and his expression instantly turned a thousand times more stressed. It was the opposite reaction he’d had when she’d bumped into him at the contest. Back then, he’d looked delighted to accidentally run into her. Now, he looked like he wished it was anyone else in the world walking up to him.

  He glanced quickly over his shoulder. Detective Elton was standing with another cop, busy in conversation. She had yet to notice Ali and Carys approach, and Callihan seemed to jump at the opportunity to make sure she never found out. He marched toward Ali and grasped her by the elbow, steering her away from Detective Elton. Scruff growled at him as he directed Ali to a discreet area behind a palm tree.

  “Hey,” she said, pulling her arm free from him. “What was that all about?”

  He spoke in a low, hushed, urgent voice. “You need to lay low.”

  “What? Why?”

  “We got the results of the forensics tests back. The oyster sauce was the poisoning agent, just as we suspected. It was traced to the hot dogs, not the buns.”

  Ali felt a flutter of relief for herself in her chest to know she hadn’t caused a man’s death. “But that means I’m off the hook. So why do I need to lay low?”

  Detective Callihan flashed her an exasperated look. “Don’t be naive, Ali. You lied about Seth prepping the hot dogs! It looks like you’re covering for him because you know something.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Ali explained. “Emilio didn’t want to throw Seth under the bus for no reason.”

  “I know that,” Callihan snapped. “And you know that. But Elton? You should know better than to give her ammo! Now she’s like a bloodhound with a scent.” He shook his head furiously.

  Ali pressed her lips together, annoyed with herself. She’d known all along Emilio’s strategy would backfire. In not wanting to throw Seth under the bus, Emilio’s actions had thrown them both under the bus instead!