Cinnamon And Secrets (A Cupake Shop Mystery Book 1)

by D. S. Mowbray

  “Hey, let’s grab some coffee today after church,” he offers, and I spot a ghostly smile on his face. I didn’t see that light to his eyes this morning, until now. It’s that spark that makes thing inside me flutter. It gets me so excited unreasonably.

  “Yeah, sure,” I pretend to act like this is all causal and that I’m not going crazy over his offer at all. And then I remember that I have to talk to Mrs. Hopper. “Actually,” I mumble, “why don’t you meet me at the brew?”

  “Sure thing,” he accepts immediately and suddenly I’m all joyous and guided by playfulness.

  • • •

  “Mrs. Hopper,” I howl and try to catch up. She’s going faster than I imagined after the Sunday preach was over. “Mrs. Hopper,” I repeat and suddenly she turns around. She looks free-spirited and bouncy as always. She’s got so much enthusiasm inside of her for her age.

  “Ainsley, dear, what’s going on?” she asks me as soon as she turns around.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, about the murder,” I tell her and the glint in her eyes changes abruptly.

  “Oh, God,” she mumbles. “It’s been such a busy week, with the police asking more and more, and people being curious as they do. How are you holding up, darling? We haven’t been able to talk much lately.”

  “Well, as you said. It’s been a couple of tough days. But I’m hanging in there. Mrs. Hopper,” I mutter with a mellower tone of my voice. “Something weird happened last night. Someone tried to break into Mr. Gleason’s house.”

  “Oh, no,” her hand goes into her mouth as she’s trying to contain her shock. The reason why I’m telling this to Mrs. Hopper is because she’s such a nice person and she’s been friends with Mr. Gleason since forever. They attended the same school back in the days. “Do you think it was, you know, the killer?”

  “Well, by many chances, it was. But anyway, I wanted to ask you about something. We haven’t been able to catch up since after the party and I haven’t had the chance to ask you about some things that have been distressing me.”

  “Oh, dear,” she mumbles, “I’ve been giving interviews all week. To the police, the local newspaper, random passers.”

  “I understand it must’ve been tough,” I try to reason.

  “You’ve no idea. You know how hard it is to have such a good friend get killed brutally? And as if that wasn’t enough, people are asking more and more of me, as if I’m some kind of eternal source of knowledge in which they can dig deeper and find something.”

  “It was so unfortunate that you had to witness all that,” I try to recall the whole dramatic scene.

  “Have the police caught anybody yet?” she interrupts me when this thought hits her.

  “Not as far as I know. If I knew this were to happen, I wouldn’t have hosted that party at all.”

  “Oh, darling. Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’re all trying to find the blame on ourselves. What if I did this? What if I did that? What if I didn’t leave him alone at the party? What happened was not your fault, none of us is to blame. Well, obviously there is someone. But I don’t think those closest to him would’ve done that.”

  “You don’t?” I frown. Somehow everyone in Lazulville is close to one another. “When I last saw him, it was when you sneaked up on us and then I left you two alone. What happened after that?”

  “We just had a random chit-chat and then I went to grab one of your cupcakes—nice skills that you have by the way—and after that…I don’t remember much. The party got messier, people had gathered in. Everyone was trying to mingle. I think I had probably three of your cupcakes. I just couldn’t stop myself. They were just that good and for once I decided to stop counting the calories. And then I felt the need to use the toilet. And that’s when I saw him…”

  “But do you remember anything relevant. Some details…I don’t know.”

  “Well, darling, when you witness a scene as horrible as I did, you get a little, what’s the word”—she puts her hand on her chin and ponders—“blurred up. Everything zooms out and all that you can think about is the horrible situation. But, like I even said to the police, the only thing that I remember was that the toilet smelled of cinnamon. Not just cinnamon, you see. It was a cologne. A fancy one that men these days use to make themselves neater.”

  “Cinnamon?” I frown, and think that she just gave me a great detail that might come in handy.

  The scent of the brew filled me with so many good vibes, and I feel like I’ve been needing that for so long. I spot Braiden on a table in the middle of the room, and he smiles and waves at me. I should refrain myself from looking at him if I don’t want to totter and probably fall head-first on the floor. But, God, he’s so charming, how could I ever keep myself from looking at him? It feels as if he’s a wonderful artwork made for people to enjoy.

  When I make it to his table, he stands up and gives me a light peck on the cheek. I feel like I’d blush, but I don’t want to come off as a silly girl to him. He’s confident, determined and surefooted, and you could not stop yourself but adore.

  But all my fascination regarding him vanishes when I smell him all the while he’s near, hugging me. It’s his cinnamon cologne that has me all swooning. Mrs. Hopper’s words come into my head, but I just snub this crazy idea. He couldn’t kill his own uncle, that’s just silly. And besides, Braiden is the most adorable person of the planet, and he looks nothing like a murderer.

  “How have you been?” I ask him concernedly.

  “Well, as you might imagine,” he raises his brows upward and then again into place and he looks just perfect. Any thought of mine about him being the killer just goes away.

  “Braiden, I’m so sorry again. This is just horrible. It shouldn’t happen to anybody, and let alone Mr. Gleason.”

  “I know,” he whispers and looks thoughtful. “What would you like to drink?” abruptly he changes the topic and altogether his mood. He seems bubbly and boyishly excited and somehow contagiously it makes me excited too. Just for no reason.

  “A Carmel Frappuccino,” I mumble and he gives my order to the waiter in no time.

  “I’ve got my latte meanwhile,” he points his chin at the cup near him on the table. “It took you a while, so I thought I might use the time to drink my coffee.”

  “I’m sorry, I just had to talk to Mrs. Hopper.”

  “Oh, please, don’t apologize.” He stops me. “How are you doing by the way? How are things with the cupcake shop?”

  “Oh, I just got the place back,” I just scowl with a smile on my face at the same time in a nothing-is-really-happening way. “I decided to install security cameras.” I give him the latest update from my life.

  “Well, that’s nice,” he smiles charmingly.

  “Braiden,” my voice takes a more serious nuance. “I talked to Detective Cassidy. He asked me whether I’d seen anything suspicious about Mr. Gleason lately. Whether he was having any argument with anybody before he got killed. I told him that everything was perfectly fine.” I see the aura on his face getting all gloomy. It’s strange how a person’s mood can change from sparkly to gloomy in the blink of an eye.

  “Well, that was thoughtful, thank you,” he appreciates my effort.

  “I didn’t mention about the morning before the party because I think it would just have been a complication. I just want to let you know that I don’t think you had anything to do with it.”

  The expression on his face is startled. And really, I feel for him. What I just said was stupid and unthoughtful. I know you’re not a murderer? Yeah, that should be consoling to anyone, especially to those whose loved ones have been killed.

  “I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said that,” looking at him, I regret what I just said. This beautiful man only deserves to be cheered on and rejoiced all the time.

  I can’t stand looking at any sign of discomfort in his eyes.

  Being near him feels like…you know those summer nights when the
most magical breeze starts blowing exquisitely and fluttering away the branches of the lemon tree, filling the atmosphere with amazing scents that you want to breathe in forever. It feels better than that.

  Somehow being near him is magical.

  And I’m slowly starting to realize that perhaps my friend is right. I might have a huge crush on him, in a way that I’ve never crushed on anybody else. But you cannot help it. You’d spend only two seconds with him and you’d already be in love. That’s all it takes for his charm to surrender you entirely.

  “Why don’t you come over when you’ve got free time and we can check together the house? Maybe we could find something. A hint. Anything?” I shrug in a what-do-I-know way.

  “Maybe I will,” he smiles at me, while the waiter places my drink on the table. I thank him with an appreciative smile and then turn back to Braiden.

  “What are you going to do with the place?” I suddenly ask, and for some reason cannot help but wonder; what if Braiden inherited the house and came to live next door? Now wouldn’t that be awesome? I’d have the hottest neighbor ever, and would find myself all sorts of reasons to get out on the porch to see him while he worked out, or I don’t know, doing anything that he enjoyed doing.

  “I don’t know. Me and my cousins haven’t been able to think about it really,” he forces an uncomfortable smile and I regret asking him that. But thinking of it, Mr. Gleason was a really rich man. I wonder how his wealth would be spread.

  “Speaking of which, I’ve heard your cousins had gathered to town prior the murder. How come?” I take a sip of my Frappuccino and enjoy the warmness in my mouth.

  “I don’t know, it’s a coincidence, really. Most of them are here for vacation.”

  I don’t know why, but this retort doesn’t really convince me. But I’m not going to ask him for further details. I’ve made him enough uncomfortable for the day as it is.

  Meanwhile, I keep enjoying my drink and his pretty face altogether, suddenly feeling like everything is so smooth and amazing, and life is an endless summer night filled with amazing scents in the air.

  I keep slicing the apples for my new recipe, and suddenly, I hinge. Looking at the knife, I feel a pang of strangeness inside of me. I’ve always thought that this was a kitchen equipment that helped you dispose of your cooking, but seemingly there’s so much more you can do with a knife. It is a murdering weapon also. Now who would’ve thought? I wouldn’t look the same way at this sharp cutting tool for sure.

  With summer flowing away, I feel a pang of discontent capture me. I didn’t mean for my summer to go so fast and unnoticeably, leaving me with so many things to deal with. I just want every day to be as amazing as a summery day, where life is so swell and bright, and the only thing you have to worry about is the appropriate portion of sunscreen you apply on your body.

  But to be honest, it wasn’t like that at all for me. I had to come up with strategies for my cupcake shop to succeed. And yet here I am, so on the fence as to what I should do about it. Put an end to it? Redesign it?

  God, I just want a sign.

  And the place being a murder scene doesn’t help much, I don’t believe my friend’s idea that it will help the shop get famous.

  Or maybe it will? You never know!

  People are so fascinated with murder, it seems like.

  “Detective Cassidy,” I say surprisingly, as the man waddles inside the cupcake shop and approaches me.

  “Ms. Holden,” he greets me in a formal voice, “how are you doing?”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m trying to run a cupcake shop. Is something wrong?” I frown. “Am I to get interrogated again?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that,” he shakes his head and smiles. “You see I come here as Brenden, not Detective Cassidy. I’m off duty today,” he smiles.

  “Oh,” I shrug, “okay, then.” And then I realize that if he’s not here as a detective, then he must be a customer. “How can I help you?”

  “Oh, I’d like, you know, one of those cupcakes that everyone is talking about, and also a cup of black coffee.” He’s taken the seat near the counter across from me.

  “People are talking about my cupcakes?” I ask, surprised. I never expected to hear that, especially from Detective Cassidy.

  “Oh, yeah. They’re all the rage. People are going crazy about them.”

  “It sure doesn’t look like it,” I look around the empty shop and he chases my sight around the room and notices my inattention.

  “Well, the place was confiscated for days. Only now it is again up and running. Just give it a little time for the word to spread around. That party of yours had people going crazy over your cookies. Almost the perfect party, I’d say. Had it not been for that gruesome murder taking place.”

  Well, he’s right. Everything seemed almost too perfect to be true, until it wasn’t anymore.

  I focus getting detective’s order ready, and when I’m done I come back at the counter with his cupcake and cup of coffee.

  He gives me a thankful smile and takes a bite from the cupcake, sounds of delight adjoining his voice. “Mhhm, this is amazing,” he points out when he’s taken the first bite from the cupcake, while chewing. “No wonder people are going cray-cray for them. Even though, Driscoll’s newsletter was a little far-fetched.”

  “You know about it?” I ask with wonder. Somehow I thought people didn’t read papers anymore. And that had been something to console me. But not anymore.

  “Well, I’m a detective, it is my duty to get updated with the latest news. Although, I have to admit, the editorial was a little rude, it was as if he was holding a grudge against you.”

  “But he wasn’t. I don’t even know him,” I mutter. “My friend invited him, without me knowing. And things happened the way they did. It all got out of hand and…well, it’s just a newsletter.”

  “Well, now I know for sure that your cupcakes are to crave for,” he keeps taking another bite, and I didn’t think I’d find myself in the position—with the detective paying me a causal visit and complimenting my cupcakes. “If only everything was as delightful as your baking.” He adds, conspiratorially.

  “What do you mean?” I frown. Certainly there might be more to his agenda than he’s letting out.

  “Well, take your complexion for example. It indicates something is distressing you, and you’re giving yourself such a hard time to whether or not dispose of this responsibility, or rather, this burden.”

  “Well, I don’t have any burden that I need to take care of.” I make a firm stand there.

  “You might tell me that all day long, but your face fails you. You’re hiding something, Ms. Holden. And I’m going to find it out. But I think that it’s better for you if you’re willing to collaborate.”

  “Detective Cassidy, I thought you were here as a customer instead,” I raise an eyebrow at him and look at his face taking a gloomy expression.

  “I most certainly am,” he insists. “And I’m telling you this as a friend. It might be better if you tell me what you’re hiding now, rather than later. I might help you. You might get away with it. Later, there are going to be consequences that you cannot escape from.”

  “What do you think that I’m hiding?” somehow his insistence startles me.

  “I’m waiting for you to tell me,” he smiles casually and drinks his coffee.

  “Well, I’m telling you that I don’t have anything to hide and that your impression might be wrong after all. And by the way, are you running this case out of impressions?”

  “Not at all. But impressions help me however. They show things that people are too afraid to reveal. It’s funny how your own self can betray you. It can display your deepest, darkest secrets up to the surface without you even knowing it. Like yours, for instance. It’s telling me that you’re hiding something, and you’re craving to get free of that responsibility, but you can’t.”

  “Well, it seems to me like you’re definit
ely running a case out of perceptions. Are you chasing any leads at all?”

  “Oh, I am,” he smiles, deviously. “I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

  “I thought you were here off duty,” now he’s just starting to get at me. I don’t know why but I’ve got this feeling that I want to punch him on the face. He’s been playing me in my face all along. He wants to dig something out of me. He thinks that I know something. Which I don’t.

  I mean, do I?

  “Well, thanks for the cupcake,” he pays the bill and gets off of his chair. “What I said about your cupcakes—I meant it.” He says it as if this would somehow comfort me. And quite frankly, it does. But still the rage that he fueled inside of me is still burning.

  I look at him as he leisurely makes his way out of the cupcake shop. To be honest, if he weren’t so distasteful a person, I would think that he was really a presentable guy. He’s tall and build-up and surefooted, but other than that he’s just annoying. And I despise him.

  Coral waddles around my feet, consolingly. He’s witnessed this unpleasant situation all along. He’s witnessed silently the detective playing me.

  I don’t know how to feel about that. I’m filled with rage.

  And then it hits me.

  A sudden idea captures me entirely and I think that it’s about time that I take control of this situation. I have to find that murderer. I have to find the person who killed Mr. Gleason, resolve this case and keep Detective Cassidy as far away as possible.

  I would start making an investigating plan of my own. I’ll make it my duty to bring that gruesome murderer to justice and get rid of this frightening feeling that has surrounded every one of us.

  Coral meows in approval.

  I bend down, rubbing his head and he hoists his chin up so that my hand glides smoothly along his spine. Oh, that cat just loves to be loved.

  But after all, who doesn’t?

  I’ve been chasing my cat for the last couple of minutes. I’ve no idea where Coral is hiding and I’m not in the mood to play hide and seek with him. It’s the middle of the night for God’s sake, I should get some rest and yet here I am desperately looking for my adorable, disobedient cat.