Pumpkins And Trickery (A Cupcake Shop Mystery Book 2)

by D. S. Mowbray

  The next few seconds get me jumping up, and even Coral wakes up from his little catnap. Something just clamped so loudly, the whole house echoed.

  Oh, my God. What just happened? I’m not really sure what is going on, so I get out from the blanket and into my own feet.

  I peer around but everything looks so quiet throughout the darkness of the house. And then I spot something. There’s steam coming from the wall that links the living room to the hallway that leads to the front door.

  I run to it, a little bit scared to be honest. I look around for anything firm in particular that I might use as a weapon in case there’s a burglar that I’m up against.

  And then gawking at that very spot, I can see an instant spark coming from the hallway, and the next thundering, loud, shocking sound fills the room.

  It’s beyond scary.

  What is going on?

  The only thing nearby me is a large decorative vase, but I grab it anyway, in case a housebreaker appears in front of me. I keep walking forward on my tiptoes as if I’m afraid someone would hear me in my own house.

  Then I look around and something smells like it’s burning. When I get to the hallways, I turn on the lights, but nothing weird appears in front of me. And then I focus, and realize that all sorts of weird things are appearing in front of me.

  There’s steam filling out the room, my rug is starting to rekindle, and nearby it I find two firecrackers. And then I look at the widow adjacent the front door. A part of it is broken. When did this happen? I guess that’s how whoever did this has been able to throw the firecrackers inside of my house. And then I hear the door knocking.

  Oh, my God. Are they here? I know that I’m being attacked, but what should I do, exactly?

  I step back, horrification seeping from down my spine up to my throat. I’m speechless and horrified as if I’ve seen a ghost. Wait, that’s worse than that.

  I don’t know what I should be doing exactly, but I’m sure that opening the door isn’t an option. My little inner conflict about what I should do goes away, when I hear crackling sounds that I realize come from the door handle. Whoever is standing behind that door, is trying to get themselves in.

  I want to run. But where would I go? After all, I’m at home. And it’s late past midnight, so I don’t know who would be thinking about paying me a visit, unless they’re here to attack me. I must’ve hurt a lot of people lately for them to come here and terrify me like this.

  But then I realize that I have to be strong. It’s my house, I don’t have to be afraid in my own house. Dialing the precinct number in one hand, and holding the vase in the other, I ask, “Who is there?”

  “Ainsley, it’s me,” I hear the deep and warm voice that in spur of moment makes all my fear vanish. “Gideon.”

  I hurry my way to the door and open it with the less occupied hand, that is the one in which I’m holding the phone.

  “Oh, Gideon, what are you doing here?” I ask him, while he’s taking a good gander at me from my head to my toes and I feel a little uncomfortable. But it wasn’t a craving look, it was a provident once.

  “I heard the cracking coming from your house and I got worried. Are you okay?” imperceptibly, his hands go on to my elbows, clutching, since my hands are a little occupied at the moment, and I realize how stupid I might look with a decorative vase in my hands. I takes a look at him, but strangely I don’t stop any kind of amusement on his lips. All that I’m seeing into his eyes is concern.

  “I don’t know,” I respond. “I think I got attacked.”

  He, then, moves inside the house in his athletic moves, shoving me providently aside and taking account of the situation. He looks at the rug, nearly catching fire, at the firecrackers nearby it, and the steam filling the room.

  Taking his sweater off, he blocks the prospect fire off of my rug, and now he’s only on his tee.

  “You didn’t have to sacrifice your garment for that,” I offer, but he snubs me.

  Then he gets up from the floor and looks at me. “Did you see who did this?” he asks, his voice a little harsh, and I look like it’s directed at him. Like, I’m the victim here. You don’t have to be angry at me.

  “I don’t know, I was just…” I fumbling on my words, but he seems impatient.

  “Ainsley!” he demands and I feel like he’s yelling at me. Why is he yelling at me? “Did you see who the attacker was?”

  “I did not,” I say mildly, not understanding where his rage is coming from.

  “I’m sorry,” he weavers his head and approaches me, looking at me in a plaintive way. “I sorry. I just got so worried is all.”

  I sigh looking at the pang of concern in his eyes, and bizarrely, for some reason something warms inside of me. It’s so good to know that somebody cares about you and is looking after you without you even knowing it.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him, while he’s tangling with his phone.

  “I’m calling the detective.” He responds shortly.

  • • •

  There are policemen everywhere in my house taking stock of the evidence, while detective and I are standing in a secluded spot where I’m drenched with questions.

  “So, again, have you done something lately to upset anybody?” detective asks me for the hundredth time, and most of his questions, I didn’t answer.

  “How about a little break for today?” I hear Gideon who comes nearby me from the kitchen and stands there firmly. “I guess she’s a little exhausted for tonight, don’t you think?”

  Detective Cassidy looks ponderously at him, squinting and humming at the same time, but then it seems like he’s come up with a decision. “Okay, then. But don’t hesitate to come up at me with anything you might remember that I should know about.”

  As he says that, he joins his crewmen, taking his notepad with him. The papers are a little empty for today, as he wasn’t able to get much out of me, since he kept me asking about who I’ve come to argue with lately, and let’s say that the list is swamped. And I don’t want to reveal too much about my own investigation because it would just miff him anyway.

  “Here, take this,” Gideon offers me a mug of hot cocoa that he just prepared for me while in my kitchen.

  “Oh, thanks,” I look at it and grab the mug off of his hands. I don’t feel like drinking, but you cannot say no when a ravishing, ripped man makes a drink for you.

  I take a sip from the mug and let the warmness soothe me. I feel like I need a little sleep, and now that the police are getting away, leaving me in the serenity of my home, I feel like it’s best if I catch a wink.

  “Do you have a quiescent extra pillow?” he looks looking at me inexpressibly.

  “Why do you ask?” I look up at his face, not able to comprehend.

  “I’m going to take the couch for tonight. It looks comfortable enough.”

  Oh, God, he’s offering to sleep in, and I haven’t even thought about him doing that. He’s self-offering. And he feels quiet at ease about it though, as if it were his home.

  “Gideon, you don’t have to. I’ll be alright.”

  “Don’t know about that.” He gets near the couch and adjusts the blanket that I’ve been using prior.

  “For real, you don’t have to feel like you have to protect me every time I might be in danger.”

  “That’s my duty. Guess those are the benefits of having an athletic man as your neighbor.”

  “Do you have any idea how sexist that sounded?” I raise an eyebrow, but I cannot deny it, I feel a little flattered that he cares for me.

  “Well, it’s true. Now, you better get on with giving me that pillow. I’m going to sleep on the premises tonight.”

  I feel like it’s going to be futile to argue with that since he’s already made up his mind, feeling like he can take decisions about sleeping in my house as if he’s the owner of it.

  I get to my room and scramble on my closet for an extra pillow. I don’t feel like I can do without any of the many pillows th
at lie upon my bed.

  “Here’s your pillow,” I give him the item, and look at him while he’s making himself comfortable on the couch. And, honestly, I feel kind of bed. After all, there’s only so much comfortableness that a couch could offer you.

  “I think I’m going to make do for the night,” he offers me an enforced smile, and I look at him for another time this night, before going upstairs to sleep.

  • • •

  Stretching my face with my hands, I try to brush off the sleepiness, while going downstairs. Despite everything that happened last night, I slept so smoothly all night long. I’m on my pajamas, fuzzy hair on spot, ruffling through my house.

  I head straight for the kitchen, craving for my black morning tea. But I hinge in place. Now sure, I’m not used to having an irresistibly husky, topless man waddling around my kitchen as if he owns it. Of course, my house is warm enough, but you don’t see me running in my underwear.

  “Um, hey,” I frown, trying to pretend I’m not impressed and howling on the inside because of his looks and abs.

  “Oh,” he looks down at his six pack and smiles smugly. So adorable. “I was up for a little running today. Just came back from it. How did you sleep?” his eyes are on me now.

  “Well, comfortably enough. What are you doing?”

  “Making us breakfast.” Oh, God. When did I go from a singleton into having a ravishing eye candy into my kitchen making breakfast for me?

  “And what is that?” I snoop in, trying to take a peak, but I can tell from the smell that it’s going to be nice already. “Are those waffles?”

  “Everybody loves them, right?” he says proudly, and ambles towards the table, placing the first plate above it.

  Since I’m here, I might as well be useful, so I grab the other plates and glasses from the counter and into the near table.

  “You have to tell me. How did you come to be such a good cook?” I ask, while enjoying his food.

  “There are certain things you have to learn when you live alone,” he explains and takes a bite from his raspberry waffle.

  Meanwhile, I plunge enough honey into my own waffle. I like them extra sugary. But while chewing, I come to realize that these are not normal circumstances. Usually I’d be taking care of myself. But now another one is doing that too.

  “You know, thanks again. For everything.” I look at him endearingly and gratefully.

  “Oh, don’t mention it.”

  After that, I hear the doorbell ring. I get up from my chair and able towards the door. Opening it, I find Heather standing in front of my house, giving me a provident, passionate hug.

  “Oh, honey, are you okay?” she asks, concerned.

  “Um, yeah,” I raise my eyebrows, confused. The world just travels so fast around town, I guess.

  “Oh, that’s just horrible,” I don’t think that she’s even listening to what I just said. Instead, she keeps mumbling her own impulsive talk. “Who would be so cruel to do this to you?”

  We walk towards the kitchen area, and when Heather spots Gideon standing shirtless in my house, she hinges. I mean, I feel for her.

  “What happened here last night?” she looks around all befuddled. “Because I heard that you got attacked. I mean, things seem pretty fine to me. Actually, extra fine.” She gawks at his abs audaciously while saying so.

  “Gideon stayed the night, just for prospect protection.” I explain.

  “Hmm,” she mutters and I know there are myriad of kinky things swirling on her head right now.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I am startled to see Alyvia coming into my shop this morning. I mean, after everything that happened last night is a little bit normal for me to feel dizzy. Why is she here? Did she know that I was chasing her and she’s come to yell at me?

  “Alyvia,” I try to remain calm, despite the mess that is going on inside of me right now.

  “Ainsley,” she mutters and from her tone alone I can detect that she’s come here with peaceful intentions. At least that’s what I like to believe. “I heard that you got attacked. Are you okay?” I’m a little shocked that she’s asking, but after all, I think that my well-being is not the purpose of her coming here.

  “I’m fine, thanks. I mean whoever did that just wanted to give me a good scare.”

  “I’m so sorry that you had to go through this,” she mutters, but meanwhile I’m going through all the possible scenarios.

  What if Alyvia is the one who threw the firecrackers at my house? I mean, she’s never visited my cupcake shop before, but here she is now, showing concern about me. That would be a typical secret attacker’s behavior. They wouldn’t let you know that they’re behind it in any way. Should I be concentered? I mean, at least, I should filter the words coming out of my mouth.

  “Anyway, I think that I have something to say to you. You know, after your last visit at the pumpkin shop, I wasn’t very nice to you. But you have to understand. I’ve got a lot going on in my life right now. And to have you probably accusing me of the murder of Mr. Mahoney was too much. I mean, it’s already enough his wife is after me like a ghost, I feel like she’s breathing down my neck.”

  “I mean, it wasn’t my intention to make you feel like that,” I whisper mildly.

  “The thing is Mrs. Mahoney hates me ever since something happened one year at the shop. She came looking for autumn pumpkins and while browsing, an entire composition disarrayed and a lot of pumpkins turned to smash. She felt so bad for being part of this mess, she wanted to pin the blame on anybody else but herself. I was so shocked when she came up to me telling me that it was my fault for having improperly composted the vines together. I don’t think I ever did anything bad to her, but I guess she’s weird like that.”

  “I’m so sorry that you had to go through this. But have you been trying to talk this out with her?”

  “Oh, it’s futile. She wanted to convince Mr. Grantham to fire me, but luckily he didn’t do that. Mr. Mahoney even had a say in that.”

  “But wouldn’t he be hating you?” I’m now confused.

  “Of course, not. Actually, he wouldn’t be telling this to his wife, though he was keen on me, and always greeted me when he came at the shop. See, he and Mr. Grantham were good friends.”

  “Oh,” I don’t know what to believe anymore. It’s either Alyvia is lying to me, or Mrs. Mahoney is. Or probably, she’s telling the truth. After all, Mr. Mahoney had been acting in full secrecy, and his wife knew nothing about his nicety towards Alyvia.

  “I heard about you getting attacked this morning, and I thought about our little situation at the pumpkin shop. And I couldn’t calm down. That’s why I ran here as fast as I could the first chance I got.”

  “Alyvia. You don’t have to feel sorry about anything. I understand.”

  “Anyway, I’ve got to go now. My shift starts in a while, and I can’t be late.” Before she exist, she turns around, eyeing me. “By the way, I’m happy you’re alright.”

  I smile in a thankful way, and suddenly I feel like the world is a perpetual deceptive mirage. One minute you’re convinced about one thing, and the next you’re thinking in a polar way.

  I look throughout the street and I detect teens waddling to school with their school bags. Imperceptibly I think about Kierra. Maybe what irritates me the most about Tyson deceiving her is that I’ve been there. I know exactly how she’s feel once she discovers it. She’d be crushed.

  It’s a big struggle to decide whether I should tell her or not. I mean, it’s not really my place. And plus, I don’t want to be the one who hurts her. I feel like I need to have a little conversation with Tyson, but I don’t know how to be in touch with him, since he rarely visits my shop, and all those times he’s accompanied by Kierra.

  The shop is so quiet this early in the morning. Usually I’d be expecting people running for their morning coffee, but I guess the rush hour isn’t until the next few minutes.

  Meanwhile, I need to savor these little moments for myself. I
t’s been a while actually since I haven’t done something that would provide me with the full delight that I so desperately need nowadays.

  And then Heather comes in.

  “I didn’t know you were such a sneaky,” she tells me, accusingly.

  “What did I do?” I ask, surprised. Though deep down I know what she’s referring to.

  “How could you be spending the night with the stud next door and I know nothing about it? I thought we were BFF?”

  “Hey, it’s not what you think.”

  “Oh, yeah? Because I found him eating shirtless with you in your kitchen? What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Oh, Heather.” I mutter, disbelievingly and a little bit comprehensively.

  “What I wouldn’t do to have a man like that have breakfast with me, shirtless.” She sighs wishfully.

  “But to be honest, I kind of appreciated that he was there for me last night. You know it was terrifying.”

  “Oh, I’m such a bad friend,” she says to herself. “I guess a got distracted by his abs, I forgot to ask. Who did you upset so much lately as to crack up fire in your house?”

  “Oh, I’m not sure, really. It’s not like I’ve been making a lot of people happy. But I think it’s a message.”

  “A message?”

  “Yeah, somebody doesn’t like my chiming it to solve the mystery.”

  “Well, obviously. You didn’t have this kind of troubles in your life, when, let’s say, you hadn’t developed these sleuthing instincts.”

  “You’d say,” I eye her inexpressibly.

  Meanwhile, other customers join and I let Heather deal with her own thoughts for the moment. I know that it’s going to be a while until she heads out to work, but I appreciate her company this early in the morning. It’s nice to have someone familiar to share your thoughts with early in the day.

  “What are you doing?” I ask her, when I’ve got a little time between clients.

  “Oh, I’m just looking at the feedback from my newest article.” She says, encumbered into her tablet.