by Fiona Grace
But Nate? Surely no! He wasn’t capable of such a thing.
Ali knew she should be honest and tell the police that Nate was not one of them, but she didn’t want to throw him under the bus just to save her own skin. There had to be another way to prove she wasn’t the killer.
“Listen up,” Detective Elton barked. “We’re taking all your contact details and will be working through everyone to get proper statements. We might invite you down to the station as well. While you have the right not to talk to us, or to consult legal representation first, I ask for your full cooperation on this matter so we can catch Councilman Chessley’s killer as soon as possible and ensure the safety of Willow Bay.”
Ali felt her gaze drop. They obviously didn’t have enough evidence yet to arrest her. But they would, she was sure of it, because she looked like the most obvious suspect. Even one of her fellow vendors had suspected she’d poisoned him, and that was before they even knew it was murder! If her friends and allies could think it, of course the cops could.
The crowd began to disperse, heading stunned and bleary for the alleyway.
Ali hadn’t taken five steps when she felt a hand grab her roughly by the arm. She gasped with shock and winced at the pain of the tight grip. It was Detective Elton.
“Don’t leave town, Miss Sweet,” she said, narrowed her eyes.
Ali swallowed hard.
Ali walked away from the crime scene, downtrodden and exhausted, and headed for home, fearing what tomorrow would bring. She couldn’t imagine what would happen if her mother found out about this…
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In bed that night, Ali tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
On the bedside table, her phone lit up. She reached for it, half expecting it to be her mother. With relief, she saw Piper’s name flashing at her.
She pressed her thumb on the green pick-up button.
“Pipes?” she said through a yawn. “You okay?”
“Me okay?” Piper squealed shrilly in her ear. “ME? Ali, are YOU okay?”
Ali winced and moved the phone an inch from her ear. “Yeah. I’m okay. You heard about Marvin, I take it?”
“Yes. Of course I did. I could see the police lights from my apartment.”
‘Of course,’ Ali thought. Piper lived up in the hills. She’d have a perfect view down into the valley as the whole debacle unfolded.
“Tell me everything,” her assistant insisted.
Ali sighed. She didn’t really want to go over it all again, but decided to anyway, to make sure nothing was lost in translation, and that Piper got the full story rather than the embellished one that would be running like wildfire through the town by daybreak.
“I went to talk to Marvin after the meeting, alone, to see if I could speak to him person to person. You know, politics aside, I really liked the guy, and I wanted to appeal to his human side. But I found him…” Her voice trailed off as the terrible memory returned. She shuddered it away and regained her composure. “I found him slumped halfway out of his car. Dead.”
“You went to speak to him alone?” Piper asked, audibly wincing.
Ali’s chest sank. She knew exactly where this was heading. “Yes.”
“And you were the only one not accounted for after the meeting and before the body was found?” Piper pressed.
Ali’s heart clenched. “Yes. I know. It sounds terrible.”
There was a pause on the line. Then, “Did you do it?” Piper asked.
Ali gasped. She couldn’t quite believe Piper’s gall.
“What?” she cried. “How could you even ask me that?”
“Because,” Piper said, “he was going to ruin the bakery, and all the other vendors on the boardwalk. Maybe you took one for the team.”
Ali could practically hear the nonchalant shrug in Piper’s voice, and it disturbed her. “Piper, you know me. I could never do something like that!”
“But how well does any one of us really know anyone else? You know?”
Her assistant had chosen quite the day to become an existential philosopher, Ali thought. But it did give her pause for thought. How well did anyone really know anyone else? We all like to think we do, but no one is a mind reader—even if they claim to be like Lavinia Leigh—and no one can know another’s innermost thoughts.
As she mulled it over, Ali’s mind went to Nate. Besides herself (who she already knew had done nothing) he was the only one unaccounted for last night. He’d been acting weird when she’d bumped into him on the way to the town hall, awkward and a little shifty. He’d had no reason to be in that part of town and had failed to give her an answer when she’d queried him about it. And finally, when they’d parted ways, she’d watched him walk in the other direction, away from the town hall. So what had prompted him to double back on himself and appear a half hour later at the scene of a murder? Could he possibly have returned to take care of Marvin Chessley on her behalf?
Ali shuddered.
“Are you still there?” came Piper’s voice in her ear.
Ali startled. She’d gotten so lost in her thoughts that she’d forgotten she was on a call.
“Yeah, sorry. Piper, I’m going to go to bed now.” She yawned, the adrenaline of the event now spent, and exhaustion overcoming her.
“Are we opening tomorrow?” Piper asked.
“Of course,” Ali said. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“Because everyone thinks you’re a murderer now,” Piper said, simply. “Who wants to buy a Danish from a killer?”
Her words hit Ali like a toll bell. She was right. She’d been so wrapped up in emotion she hadn’t even considered the practical reality of what would happen next. As the obvious culprit in Marvin’s murder, people would naturally start giving her bakery a wide berth, even if they believed she’d acted misguidedly on all their behalf. She would be the sacrificial lamb in this scenario, at least until the real killer was caught.
“Just be there,” Ali said with finality, and she hung up the call before Piper had a chance to say anything else tactlessly cruel.
As silence fell, Ali chucked her cell phone down on the mattress and took a deep breath. This was all getting to be too much. She’d been stressed enough as it was over the bill, and the shock of Marvin’s death, and speaking to the cops, but now Piper had made her think of a whole load more problems — Nate, and the store. And suddenly Ali thought of her mother, who knew nothing of what had happened but would obviously blow a gasket when she found out. The combination of all the factors mixed in Ali’s mind like the ingredients of a terrible cake. She was not looking forward to tomorrow.
She slunk down under the covers and stared up at the ceiling. Despite her fatigue, she knew sleep would not come easily tonight. The shadows on the walls from the moonlight glowing through branches seemed to stretch like fingers, grasping at her, trapping her, closing in. She shuddered, feeling very alone and out of her depth.
A sudden noise sent Ali flying into an upright position. It was a strange scratching noise, coming from the living room. Or the front door? Ali’s heart began to pound with fear as her mind went into overdrive over what it could be.
A muffled bark punctuated the silence.
“Scruff!” Ali exclaimed, tearing off her covers with relief and racing out of bed.
She ran barefoot across the living room carpet and pulled the front door open. There, on the welcome mat, sat the little boardwalk stray.
Ali had never been so relieved to see him in all her life, and she bent down, scooping him up eagerly into her arms. He licked her face in greeting.
“Are you here to keep me company tonight?” Ali asked him.
He yipped several times, nuzzling into her neck affectionately.
“Thank you,” she whispered with gratitude. “I really didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
She peered out the open front door, at the dark, still ocean and the bright moon reflected in its surface. The outside world had taken on an ominous quality, and Ali shuddered.
She shut the door, blocking it out, to face another day.
*
With Scruff’s company, Ali found herself relaxing just enough to drift in and out of sleep. It was the sort of light, unrefreshing sleep that often plagued her when her mind was troubled. The type that made her dreams more vivid and realistic. One moment she’d be gazing at the curtains, ruminating on the day to come, and the next she’d be transported to a different time and place, without any real sense of having slipped into slumber in between.
It was in one of these vivid places she found herself now. One moment her familiar bedroom had been around her, the feel of her duvet weighted on top of her, the distant sound of the rolling ocean, and the next she was in a very dainty café. On the table in front of her was a coffee cup filled with something black and sludgy. On her plate was a wedge of solid chocolate, shaped like one of her Danishes, but encrusted with edible gold leaf, nuts, and dried fruits, like the ornamental animals sold by Julian Rich.Sweets.
Ali looked up at the person opposite her, who was wearing the same oriental patterned silk kaftan as Julian, and the same sneering expression of disdain despite having a completely different face.
“Dad?” Ali gasped, as she realized who that face must belong to.
“Yes?” he replied in Julian’s disdainful voice. “Really Ali, I wish you’d dressed up for the occasion. You look like a mess.”
Ali glanced down at her clothes; her batter-splattered jeans and scuffed shoes.
“I’m sorry,” she said to her father.
“What makes you think I’d want a daughter like you back in my life?” her dad continued in the same cruel tone. “You can’t even look presentable.” He took a bite of his chocolate Danish, then spat it out. “And you can’t even cook properly!”
Ali felt her stomach roll with grief. To hear such terrible, cruel words come from her father’s lips was too much to bear. She wanted to cry and run away, but she was fixed to her seat, and no noise seemed to be able to escape her throat.
Her dad locked his eyes on her and narrowed them with disappointment. He sighed. “Now look at you. You’ve got blood on your hands.” He tutted and shook his head.
Panicked, Ali glanced down at her hands. The chocolate smears that had been on them before had turned red. She tried to scream, but again, nothing came out.
Her dad was shaking his head now, in big, exaggerated movements, his eyes devoid of any affection for her. “What makes you think I’d want a daughter like you?” he said again, his tone even more vitriolic than before. Now it wasn’t just disappointment in his inflection, it was hatred. “A failure? A murderer?”
“I’m not a murderer!” Ali cried, her voice suddenly unlocked. “I’m not a murderer!”
And just like that, everything changed again, and Ali found herself back in her bed, sitting upright, her heart hammering at a rate of knots, her skin clammy with cold sweat.
Scruff came bounding in the room and leapt onto her, licking the beads of sweat from her night-terror off her face with genuine affection.
“I’m okay, Scruff,” she told him, her voice strained. “I’m okay.”
As her racing heart began to subside, Ali realized what she was going to have to do. She was not going to have a reputation as a murderer, not even for a day. Tomorrow, she was going to have to get to work clearing her name. She was going to solve Marvin Chessley’s murder.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In the pale dawn light, Ali walked down the boardwalk toward her store. She was bleary-headed from the terrible night’s sleep she’d had. Getting out of bed this morning had been very hard. Had it not been for Scruff demanding she get up and feed him, she may well have pulled the duvet over her head and remained there for the rest of the day.
She looked down at the little stray, trotting along proudly beside her. She couldn’t even put into words how grateful she was for him. He’d seen her through so many trials and tribulations now, she was starting to wonder how she’d cope without his silly, furry face in her life.
Just then, Scruff halted and went on his haunches, his fur standing on end. He began to growl.
The hairs on Ali’s arms sprang up in response, and goosebumps raced across her skin.
“Scruff? What is it?” she asked, her voice wavering with anxiety.
She followed his eyeline to see what had shaken him so, and gasped when she found it. Something was glowing an eerie green color in the distance, and it was coming from her bakery!
Ali’s heart jolted and she raced across the boardwalk, footsteps pounding loudly. Scruff ran alongside her, tongue lolling, and together they screeched to a halt.
“I can’t believe it!” Ali cried, her eyes scanning the front of the bakery, reading and re-reading the word that had been graffitied across it in bright, neon green, glowing paint. MURDERER.
Ali clenched her fists. Any illusions she’d held onto about business as usual were well and truly shattered. No one would come in when they saw that! The word defacing the front of her store was scrawled in such thick, bold letters, it could probably be seen for miles around! Some local teenagers’ idea of a hilarious joke was essentially the nail in the coffin of the day’s profits.
“Ha. Ha,” she said in a sarcastic, dead-pan voice.
“Ali?” came a voice from behind.
Ali swirled on the spot, jumpy from the shock of finding the graffiti. It was Piper. Her bleary-eyed assistant was approaching, her pale blonde hair a shade of ghostly gray in the dawn light.
Scruff barked at her. He seemed just as on edge as Ali. She bent down and petted him soothingly. “It’s just Piper,” she told him.
“What happened?” Piper asked, her green eyes scrunched in dismay as she stared at the graffiti.
“Kids, I guess,” Ali said with a sigh, straightening back up and gazing at the lurid, offensive graffiti. “Probably a prank.” She shook her head, ruefully. “I’d better get a mop and bucket.”
Scruff barked.
“Oh yes, and some breakfast for you,” Ali added, looking at him tenderly.
She unlocked the main door, and while Scruff waited patiently on the welcome mat, she and Piper headed inside, moving hypnotically through their usual tasks—opening the shutters, turning on the till, loading up the beans into the coffee machine. Ali fetched some water and kibble for Scruff, setting them down outside beside the door, then returned for the bucket and sponge from the store cupboard. She filled the former up with warm soapy water, before carrying it out the door, only to discover Scruff had already wolfed down her breakfast offering and was trotting off toward the beach, presumably for an early morning swim.
She set the bucket down, and returned to the store cupboard, this time for the ladder. Ali only just surpassed five feet, but the graffiti “artist” must’ve been well over six to reach so high.
“And a couple of extra inches for the skateboard he was standing on,” she muttered, thinking of the skater-boys who often hung around to drool over Piper.
Teeth clenched with fury, she plunged the sponge into the sudsy water, climbed a couple steps up the ladder, and set about scrubbing.
There was something oddly therapeutic about directing her anger into her vigorous scrubbing. The way the suds and the green paint coiled down her arms was rather mesmerizing, and the ache in her arm from the scrubbing motion felt oddly relaxing. It was as if all her anger and fear were being manifested into movement and released through her muscles, almost like she’d found a new type of meditation.
“Furious calm,” she said aloud, and the oxymoron actually made her smile for the first time since Marvin’s death had turned her world upside down.
A sudden shriek from behind broke Ali out of her reverie. The ladder wiggled suddenly under her, and she dropped the sponge, which hit the ground with a loud, wet splat.
“Ali!” screamed her mother’s voice. “What is this?!”
Every nerve in Ali’s body zapped to life. Slowly, she turned her head and looked down at Georgia Swe
et who was peering up at the green graffiti like it was the most horrifying thing she’d seen in her entire life. There was something unsettlingly incongruous about Georgia’s stylish wide-brimmed hat and loose beige shorts combo next to this lurid green, ugly graffiti. They were clearly two things that did not belong.
“Just kids,” Ali said, forcing out that flippant tone she always used to quell her mom’s over-the-top reactions. She took the two steps down the rungs of the ladder and landed gainfully in front of her mom. “And it scrubs off easily, so it’s fine.”
“Fine?” Georgia squealed. “How is it fine? I mean I knew you lived in a cheap little town, but I had no idea it was dangerous.”
“It’s just graffiti, Mom,” Ali said, choosing not to tell her a single thing about why it had been sprayed on the side of her building.
“What does it say?” Georgia demanded. “Urderer? What does that mean?”
Ali was relieved she’d managed to at the very least scrub off the M before her mom arrived.
“It’s just a tag,” Ali lied, easily.
“A tag?”
“The artist’s graffiti name.”
“Artist?!” Georgia spat. She looked like she was about to faint from shock.
“Mom, why don’t you come inside and have some coffee?” Ali said, deciding it would be better to divert her mom’s attention rather than attempt to engage with it. “It’s quite early for you to be awake.”
Georgia pursed her lips. “Yes, well, we missed one another yesterday so I wanted to get as much time with you as possible.”
“Then come on in,” Ali said, forcing a bright smile onto her face. She gestured to the door.
With a displeased look, Georgia headed into the store.
The bell tinkled, and Piper looked up from the counter.
“Oh, hey Ms. Sweet,” she said as Georgia and Ali entered. “You’re up early. Because of the mur—”
Quickly, Ali started miming at Piper to stop speaking, and her assistant snapped her lips shut.
