by Fiona Grace
“Okay, go ahead and hang up now,” the woman replied.
Ali did as she was told and hung the phone up. The directness of the woman’s commands had left her no space to dabble, and no doubts as to what was expected of her. In the moment of crisis, being directed was exactly what she needed.
She staggered across the kitchen and through the bakery, with Scruff trotting alongside her. They headed out into the morning sunshine, at the same moment the first cop car halted outside the store.
“Ma’am,” the male cop emerging from the passenger side said, “Get back behind the car for me.”
He was reaching for his holster, Ali noted, and with a jolt of disbelief it occurred to her they needed to do a sweep of her property in case the perp was still on site. She swallowed a lump of panic as she wondered just how much danger she might’ve been in while alone in the bakery. The phrase sitting duck came to mind.
Springing into action, Ali scurried toward the cruiser. The cop who’d been driving was also out now, approaching her store cautiously alongside his partner, both ready to draw their weapons. The whole thing was so surreal, Ali almost felt like she was having an out of body experience, that her store was just a film set being used for a gritty detective show. The only thing that made any sense to her right now was Scruff winding his way through her legs, flashing her looks of concern and support.
As she reached the cop cruiser and crouched down behind it, she scooped him up into her arms and snuggled into his straggly fur. She couldn’t be more grateful for his companionship in this bizarre, incomprehensible moment.
“Clear!” she heard one of the cops shout from inside her bakery.
“Clear!” came the second voice.
She couldn’t see them anymore—they’d already disappeared into the kitchen. Which meant next they’d be heading out the back door to the alleyway and the dumpsters… and the body.
More sirens wailed, and Ali looked over her shoulder to see an ambulance racing down the hill. With a heavy heart, Ali knew they could offer no assistance. Arlo was beyond help. Even though she hadn’t felt for a pulse, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d lain there for many hours before she’d found him. Perhaps even all night.
Just then, Scruff yapped, breaking Ali from her reverie. She looked over to see the two cops re-emerging back through the main doors of the bakery into the sunshine. Their guns were back in their holsters, and they were talking rapidly into the walkie-talkies attached to their shoulders. Deducing there was no threat or danger, Ali stood, still cradling Scruff like a child with a stuffed toy, and cautiously approached.
“Confirmation we have a deceased male on sight,” she overheard the first officer saying into his walkie-talkie. “Signs of foul play. I’m calling code blue.”
His eyes flicked up as he noticed Ali approaching. But there was a look in them she couldn’t quite read, and Ali suddenly wondered if it was suspicion.
Her head began to spin. Was she reading too much into the cop’s expression, or did he think she had something to do with it?
Suddenly, Ali felt like she was swaying, as if on a boat on a stormy sea. She just about made out the sound of a crackling voice emanating from the walkie-talkie; “the detectives are en route.” Then her legs gave out beneath her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Are you alright, ma’am?”
Ali glanced up at the officer standing over her. She was still holding Scruff protectively in her arms, and he started licking her face with concern.
Ali nodded. “I — I think I’m just in shock.”
“It’s alright,” the officer assured her. “There’s no danger. Just stay sitting where you are for now, and if you feel faint, there are paramedics over there to help.”
Ali nodded, embarrassed to have fallen, and feeling completely helpless. All she could do was watch on with disbelief as a white van with the words CRIME SCENE emblazoned across the side halted behind the row of other emergency vehicles and crime scene operative after crime scene operative hopped out.
Her head swirled at the speed of them, as they rapidly suited up in thin, protective white suits, and slid blue plastic booties over their shoes. Then they were swarming inside her bakery, ducking under blue police tape that had been strung across the door without Ali even noticing. It was all going so fast, and Ali grimaced as she watched her bakery become overrun with these white-suited invaders. She grimaced even harder when she realized she actually recognized some of them. She’d served them before. What kind of horrible nightmare was this?
“Am I dreaming?” she murmured to Scruff. She pinched herself, in the vain hope it was all a night terror. “Ow!” she cried at the pain. With disappointment, she accepted this was not a bad dream. She really had found a dead body in her dumpster.
Just then, Ali heard the sound of a fast-approaching car, and craned behind her to see the black, tinted-windowed Merc that belonged to Willow Bay’s detectives. They raced to a halt beside the curb. The engine cut out and both doors flew open.
Detective Elton was first out. She was wearing tight black jeans and chunky platform boots, and the black biker jacket Ali had never seen her without. She had a pair of sunglasses in her mass of dark curls, and she pulled them down over her eyes as she scanned the scene around her.
Detective Sebastian Callihan exited the car next. He was shorter than his female partner — even without her heels Detective Elton would have a couple of inches on him. His brown hair was styled neatly, in that 1940s style that was so dated it was back in fashion, but Ali suspected when it came to Detective Callihan, being fashionable was entirely accidental. He’d dressed formally for the occasion in a white button up shirt and navy blue, neatly ironed slacks—so similar in color to the cops’ attire it almost looked as if he was trying to blend in with them. Ali wondered if he’d actually prefer to be in uniform rather than having the perk of being plain-clothed.
She watched on as the two detectives conversed. Even without hearing their words, it was obvious that Detective Elton was the leader of the pair. They were supposed to be partners, but the female detective had more gravitas. She certainly put Ali on edge every time their paths crossed.
Just then, Detective Elton pointed at her. Ali gulped audibly and wound her fingers into Scruff’s fur for comfort. He started licking her face again.
Then the two detectives split into separate directions. Ali was relieved to see Detective Callihan coming for her. Detective Elton, meanwhile, beelined for the bakery and waltzed right inside like she owned the place.
“Miss Sweet,” Detective Callihan said, peering down at her on the sidewalk. “Are you okay down there?”
Ali tightened her arms around Scruff. “My legs gave out.”
Detective Callihan looked concerned. “Do you want me to help you over to the ambulance?”
He sounded way too eager to help, and Ali shook her head.
“No. I want this to not be happening. That’s what I want.”
Detective Callihan hesitated for a moment. “It’s going to be okay,” he said in a slightly uncomfortable voice. He always was a little awkward, Ali noted. “We’ll make sure this case gets solved as quickly as possible, so you can get back to normal. I promise.”
Ali peered up at him, equal parts curious and confounded. This was her third run in with the pair of detectives, and she knew through experience they never, ever promised anything. And while Detective Elton still treated her with detached professionalism, Detective Callihan seemed to be acknowledging their familiarity. She wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact she was building up history with a murder detective…
Just then, a voice called from behind. “Ali!”
Ali looked behind her to see Delaney hurrying toward her, purple yoga mat tucked under one arm, patterned leggings on. Of course, it was almost time for that morning’s yoga session.
Just a little bit behind Delaney was Marco. He was looking just as concerned as Delaney and was coming right for her.
&nbs
p; At the sight of their familiar faces, something in Ali released, like a dam bursting. She leapt to her feet.
“I’ll speak to you later,” Detective Callihan said, with a nod of acknowledgement to her sudden recovery.
He headed off toward the bakery.
The sound of footsteps thundered up to Ali, and she found herself swept up in Delaney’s arms. Her incense-smelling perfume felt so familiar and comforting, Ali wanted to stay in the embrace forever. But Scruff yapped, evidently not as thrilled to be squished up as Ali was.
“Sorry!” Delaney cried, relaxing her arms. She began petting Scruff’s head absent-mindedly as she focused her crystal blue eyes on Ali. “Are you okay? What’s going?”
“What’s happening?” Marco added as he reached them.
Ali couldn’t quite believe what she was about to say, and she faltered momentarily before finding the words. “I found a body...”
“What?” Delaney cried.
“Where?” Marco added.
“In the dumpster,” Ali explained.
“Our dumpster?” Marco cried, his voice hitching up an octave. He ran his hands through his dark hair with sudden anguish.
Delaney shot him a look. “Marco, I know you’re concerned but Ali actually saw the body.”
He nodded. “We should go inside,” he said, pointing to his pizzeria. “Have a coffee.”
“That’s a good idea,” Delaney said. She rested her hand on Ali’s back to guide her.
Ali was in no fit state to argue. She allowed Marco and Delaney to guide her to the pizzeria, her arms still clutched around Scruff. It felt like he was the only thing grounding her.
As Marco busied himself unlocking the pizzeria’s door, Ali glanced around her at all the cops and the cars and the flashing lights. It was still early, but soon the tourists would wake up and the boardwalk would begin to throng with people, with customers who’d see the chaos unfolding around her bakery. The thought gave Ali chills.
The door to the pizzeria yielded. “Come inside,” Marco said, ushering the two women in after him.
With both of Delaney’s hands guiding her by the shoulders, a stunned Ali staggered in after him.
It was very hot inside the pizzeria, even with the blinds down. Ali slumped into one of the red vinyl seats, and felt the sweat on her back stick to her shirt. Scruff started to whine, and Ali set him down on the floor. She’d been using the poor thing like a security blanket for ages now and he’d only now complained. He’d been a real trooper.
“Sorry about the heat,” Marco said, as he went over to set the coffee machine to fire it up. “The AC’s on the blink.”
Delaney dumped her yoga mat down and slid into the seat opposite Ali. She leaned forward and took both her hands in hers. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Ali wasn’t actually sure. Part of her brain wanted to shut up the memory and never look at it again. But the other part of her brain knew that such a thing was impossible. No matter how hard she tried, she’d never be able to erase those images from her mind, and a problem shared is a problem halved.
“It was Arlo,” she said.
Delaney gasped. “Arlo Hudson?”
From where he was standing by the coffee machine, Marco looked instantly stunned. He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Arlo Hudson is dead? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Ali said. “He was…murdered.”
They both gasped again. Ali could feel their shock reverberating in the pit of her stomach, like echoes of her own shock.
“Do you know… when he was put there?” Delaney asked cautiously, as if choosing her words as carefully as possible.
Ali shook her head. “All I know is he looked like he’d been there for a while. All night, if I had to guess.”
Delaney grimaced. “Oh Ali,” she muttered with concern.
Delaney’s expression reminded Ali of the look the cop had given her earlier. Did they really suspect her? Was she going to be another suspect in a murder investigation? She needed to find out.
Just then, Marco approached the table carrying a tray with three espresso cups on it, and Ali had a sudden thought. The pizzeria’s garden backed right on to the alleyway. The crime scene. Perhaps if they went out there, she might be able to hear what the detectives were saying?
“Why don’t we take these out to the garden?” she suggested. “You have shady trees out there, so it’s bound to be a little cooler than in here, right?”
“And we can get away from the noise,” Delaney added with a nod. “Sullivan Raine’s building work will start up soon.”
Marco agreed and diverted toward the back door, leading them out the small paved-over patio. It was significantly cooler out here, and the three sat at one of the picnic benches.
Almost straight away, Ali picked out the distant voices of Detective Elton and Detective Callihan floating over the ten-foot-high dividing fence.
“He’s the food critic, isn’t he?” Detective Callihan was saying.
“Arlo Hudson,” came Detective Elton’s husky voiced reply.
Delaney’s eyes widened. “Is that—?”
Ali held a finger up to her lips to hush her and nodded. All three fell completely still and silent, and craned their heads to eavesdrop.
“Get this,” came Detective Elton’s voice, muffled only slightly by the distance. “Arlo just took a job at the Willow Bay Herald. Food critic. He writes a mean column. Fancies himself as a Gordon Ramsey type. Guess who his most recent review was of?”
“The pizzeria?” Detective Callihan suggested.
“Guess again,” Detective Elton replied.
She sounded like she was enjoying this way too much, and Ali clenched her jaw with irritation.
“Ali Sweet…” Detective Callihan replied through a sad exhale.
Delaney and Marco’s gazes found Ali’s, and she tensed. She knew the fact there was a body in her dumpster looked very bad, and that she’d been the one to find him in the first place looked even worse, but the fact the body belonged to a man who’d very recently scathingly insulted her pushed it to another level entirely. If she wasn’t already the detectives’ number one suspect, she’d be very surprised.
“I don’t know,” Detective Callihan continued. “I doubt a five-foot nothing woman could haul a body into a dumpster?”
Ali felt hope lift her slightly. She’d always found Detective Callihan the less blinkered of the two of them. But her hope was dashed immediately by Detective Elton’s gruff reply.
“Ali Sweet’s not exactly a shrinking violet, is she? She’s a baker. She hauls heavy stuff out here every day.”
“We’re talking the dead weight of a fully grown man,” Detective Callihan rebuked. “Not a sack of flour.”
“Maybe read the review before you jump to any conclusions about what she may or may not be capable of. Arlo Hudson shredded her to pieces. Called her trash. And look where he ends up. In the trash. He said he choked. And look here. Ligature marks. The guy was choked to death.”
Ali’s stomach turned. She held a hand up to her throat, almost as if needing to make sure her own windpipe was free from ligatures. She couldn’t think of anything more horrible, and her eyes kept darting anxiously from Delaney to Marco as the revelation made her feel worse.
Detective Elton was still talking, divulging everything to her partner. “There was a public altercation between them, as well, Miss Sweet and our victim. You know how prissy she is over this place. It’s amazing how much strength you can get when you’re insulted and enraged. Even a five-foot nothing woman...”
Ali felt a hard lump form in her throat. She tried to swallow but it was almost impossible. She wasn’t just on Detective Elton’s radar; she was basically a big red flashing beacon. And not a single thing the detective had said was wrong. Arlo’s death did match up with her review. Arlo and she had fought. She was stronger than she looked.
“We’ll need to interview all the store owners with access to the dumpsters,” Detective Elton said. �
�Marco, Emilio, and Ali.”
“I’ll start with Ali,” Detective Callihan said, a little too quickly. He added, with less eagerness, “She’s sitting outside after all.”
“No,” Detective Elton said, brusquely. “I’ll talk to Ali. You talk to the Italian guy; I saw him arrive just before you came in. You’ll be way too soft on Miss Sweet.”
Ali didn’t know what to make of that, but she wasn’t looking forward to giving her statement to Detective Elton. They didn’t see eye to eye at the best of times. And considering all the evidence currently stacked against her, it was unlikely to be any better this time.
“We need to get back out front!” Delaney whisper-cried.
Abandoning their espressos, they hurried back through the pizzeria and out into the sunshine, just as the detectives emerged from the bakery.
Detective Callihan beelined for Marco, while Detective Elton fixed her gaze on Ali and pushed her sunglasses off her nose and into her mass of hair. She was always a formidable looking woman—in her black, biker-girl attire—but with her brown-eyed scowl unobscured by her sunglasses, she was downright terrifying.
Ali gulped with fear as the detective advanced on her and stopped, hands on hips, towering over her.
“Miss Sweet,” Detective Elton said. “It’s time you and I had a conversation.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I already told you,” Ali said to Detective Elton. “I was on the telephone to my sister.”
An undecipherable “Mmh,” was all the detective gave in response to Ali’s alibi.
They were sitting inside the bakery at one of the round tables usually favored by couples on dates. Ali couldn’t think of anything less romantic than being interrogated by a murder detective while crime scene operatives swarmed all around her.
“Can you maybe consider using a different access route?” Ali asked, her gaze following the crime scene operatives as they filed in and out, carrying equipment in and evidence bags out like a row of ants following pheromone trails. “The pizzerias, for example? You’re going to scare away all my customers. Again.” She folded her arms, testily, and gave Detective Elton a stern look.
