by Fiona Grace
“Don’t go!” Ali cried, jumping up too. “Please. Let me explain.” If Seth walked out on her like this, before she’d even had a chance to try and put things right, she’d never forgive herself.
Seth paused and put his hands on his hips, his dark brows halfway up his forehead in an expression of expectation, as if to say go on, I’m listening, what could you possibly say to make this better?
Nate put his hands on his hips, too, mirroring Seth’s posture and expression. They stood side by side, staring at her expectantly, furiously, suddenly united in their grievance toward her.
“I—I don’t know what to say,” Ali said, lamely. “Nate and I were friends, are friends. We were getting close, but then we drifted apart. I thought Nate had changed his mind about me, and then I met you, Seth, and we got close too. But then Nate changed his mind again and that’s when things got really complicated.”
“Here’s something that’s not complicated,” Seth said. “I’m leaving.”
He marched away. Ali turned to Nate, shaking her head with shame.
“Nate, I’m so sorry, I—”
“—Save it, Ali,” Nate replied. “I came on a date to find you on a date with another guy? Message received, loud and clear.”
And with that, he marched away too.
Ali stood there, floundering, alone in the restaurant. Everyone was staring so she sank back into her seat and dropped her head in her hands. What a mess she’d made of things.
And as she sat there glumly, she caught sight of the forlorn, drunk and disheveled bar owner looking at her. He raised a glass as if to their misery. Ali grabbed the champagne bottle from the ice bucket and raised it to him, too.
Ali sat glum and forlorn in her seat, as the fallout from the spat settled all around her. How had she made such a terrible mess of things? She was appalled with herself and the way she’d acted. She should have told them both the truth from the outset.
Lavinia’s bizarre prophecy suddenly ran through her head: what you think will be double, will end up as half. She must’ve been talking about her love life.
Just then, a figure moved beside Ali. Backlit by the fish tank, she didn’t recognize who it was at first.
“Mind if I join you?” a morose sounding voice said.
It was the restaurant owner, the disheveled guy from the bar. He was clutching his beer in one hand and looked even more of a state up close.
“Looks like we could both do with some company,” he murmured, rocking from one foot to the next.
“Be my guest,” Ali said. “I’m just waiting to regain my composure anyway.”
The man slunk heavily into the chair opposite and sat in a half-slumped pose. “I saw the showdown. Were you two timing them?”
“No!” Ali said. Then she shook her head. “I guess kind of.”
The man took a big swig of beer. “Same with me and the wife,” he said. “Ex-wife. The papers got served this morning. She’s taking me to the cleaners. She’s asking for the house, the cars, everything. All she’s leaving me with is this poxy place.”
“I’m sorry,” Ali said. “But your restaurant is great. Everyone loves it. It looks like business is booming.”
The man let out a drunk-sounded scoff noise. Ali didn’t know what to make of it. Of course he was down on his luck right now but losing her bakery would’ve been significantly worse to her than losing both Nate and Seth was. The bakery was her life. Her pride and joy. Her purpose. The man still had that, even if he couldn’t see it now.
“You’ll bounce back,” she told him. “And hey, I saw your positive review in the Herald. That will surely only help matters now.”
“Ugh, the review,” the man said, blinking his heavy, boozy eyelids. “Don’t even get me started on that.”
Ali frowned, confused. Why did he have a problem with it? Maybe if he’d seen hers the day after, he might realize how lucky he’d gotten off with his Arlo experience!
“Am I missing something?” she asked. “The review was nice.”
“Did you read them both?” he asked.
Ali frowned more deeply. “Both?”
He nodded. “Yeah. The one online was different to the one they printed. Let me get you a copy.”
He clicked his fingers in the air. The waitress who’d served Ali and Seth the pink champagne came over.
“Is everything okay, Mr. Mundy?”
“Do we still have a copy of the review?” he said. “From the Herald?”
“I’ll take a look,” the woman said, politely, before ducking off into the darkness.
As Ali watched her go, a horrible, sweeping thought came over her. Her very original line of thinking had been a disgruntled vendor. Someone else who had received a negative review from Arlo. but when she’d looked online and read his review of The Cove, she’d seen only a positive review. But if the publication version had been scathing, in the same tone as his review of Ali, that gave him a motive all over again.
All of Ali’s feelings about Sullivan not quite being the right culprit suddenly came back to her in one huge moment of revelation. And with growing terror, Ali looked across the table at the drunk, dark eyed restaurant owner with his stare fixed on her.
Was he the killer?
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Ali’s heart began to race. She gazed across the table at the restaurant owner, with his disheveled appearance and five o’clock shadow. Both his hands were clasped around his beer, as if clutching on to it with desperation.
“Could you excuse me for one moment?” Ali said, removing her napkin from her lap and placing it on the table. “I need a bathroom break.”
The restaurateur waved a hand and took a swig of beer. “Sure. Sure.”
Ali stood and discovered her legs had become somewhat unsteady beneath her. She headed for the bathroom, staggering a little on her heels; she wasn’t accustomed to wearing anything other than flats.
As she pushed the door to the bathroom open and headed inside the tiled, floral smelling sanctuary, she quickly reached into her purse for her phone. She dialed Delaney.
“Hey Ali,” her friend said as she answered. “How’s your date going?”
The question threw Ali. She hadn’t told anyone about the planned date with Nate—indeed, she’d forgotten all about it herself—and of course Seth had simply turned up on her doorstep out of the blue. So how did Delaney know?
“My date?” she asked.
“With Scruff!” Delaney said, chuckling. “You two are joined at the hip these days. Cozy night in. I’m picturing movies… popcorn…”
She was eerily pretty spot on, and Ali suddenly wished she’d stayed at home with the straggly stray as originally planned. It would’ve saved her a whole lot of trouble. But then at the same time, if she had stayed home in her comfy pj’s, she’d never have met the restaurateur and been given the final piece of the puzzle that was the murder of Arlo Hudson.
“Actually, Delaney,” Ali said into the phone as she peered at her own frightened reflection in the bathroom mirror, “I need your advice.”
“Shoot,” Delaney replied.
Ali leaned against the faux-marble top surface to steady herself. “I think Sullivan might not be the culprit.”
“Okay…” Delaney said, drawing out the word leadingly. “And what made you think this?”
“Because I think I might be sitting in a restaurant with the killer.”
On the other end of the line, a beat of silence passed. Then Delaney spoke, in a rapid, worried sounding voice. “Ali, what are you talking about?”
“The vendor Arlo reviewed before me,” Ali began.
“The one he gave a nice review to?”
“Yes. Well, turns out there were two reviews. The one on the website wasn’t the same as the one that ended up in print. He’s fetching me the publication to show me now. I excused myself to the bathroom to call you, because I was starting to freak out.”
She caught sight again of her reflection in the mirror. The
phrase rabbit in the headlights sprang to mind.
“But Ali, Sullivan is in prison,” came Delaney’s assuring voice in her ear. “He as good as confessed to you. He had the means, the motive, and the opportunity. Why are you chasing another culprit?”
“Because Sullivan as the culprit doesn’t fit,” Ali told her. “If he killed Arlo to protect the businesses on the boardwalk, then why the heck did he dump the body in a boardwalk dumpster? I had been arguing it away in my head because Sullivan was the only possible perp, but now I find out this other vendor actually had a motive all along, one I’d failed to spot, and it changes everything. Just trust me on this one, Delaney. I have a gut feeling.”
“Ali, you have to get out of there,” Delaney urged.
“What?” Ali asked, surprised. “No way! I’m going to try and get him to confess.”
Delaney groaned. She spoke in a tense tone. “Ali. Don’t do it. This isn’t your job. Call the police instead. Tell them what you know.”
Ali’s hand tightened on the receiver. “But we’ve built a rapport,” she told her friend, and her own reflection, assuring both that she could handle this. “If the cops speak to him, he’ll clam up. Right now, he’s opening up to me.”
“Ali, you’re crazy!” Delaney continued. “Please get out of there!”
“I have to do this, Delaney,” Ali replied, growing more determined. “I don’t think this opportunity will come around twice. This might be the only shot.”
Delaney paused on the line. Then she sighed, as if giving in. “What are you going to do?”
Ali was relieved to know that Delaney was on her side, and she felt her shoulders relax a little. “I’m going to go back out there,” she explained. “I’m going to try and record a confession out of him.”
“That sounds really dangerous,” Delaney said.
“I know,” Ali admitted. “Which is why I’m going to keep our chat thread open on my phone. If I message you 911 you know what to do.”
She grimaced as she said it, and her stomach turned. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all? Maybe it would be better to call the cops and let them deal with it? But even if she did, would they listen to her? Right now, they were busy interrogating Sullivan Raine. Assuming Ali was correct about Mr. Mundy being the true perp, they were probably close to discovering the mistake and releasing him. And who would they turn their attention to once they realized Sullivan wasn’t the killer? Her. There was no other suspect—Detective Callihan had revealed as much to her during Sullivan’s arrest in the empty condo. He was pursuing Sullivan, and Detective Elton was pursuing her. Which meant getting a confession out of Mr. Mundy was now a matter of freedom for Ali. She had no choice but to go out there and draw a confession out of him.
“Seriously, Ali,” came Delaney’s worried voice in her ear. “I really do not like the sound of this.”
“I don’t like it much either,” Ali said, as much to her own worried reflection as to her concerned friend. “But I’m confident this is the guy.”
“Then I guess there’s nothing else to say but good luck,” Delaney replied.
Her tone was morose, almost as if she was already expecting Ali to fail. It didn’t exactly instill confidence in Ali. But she knew she must press on.
“Thanks,” she replied. “Speak soon. I hope…”
She thumbed the red button and ended the call. Her hands were shaking a little as the enormity of the situation began to truly set in. She was about to try and get a dangerous man to confess to murder. A dangerous, drunk man. She could only pray she didn’t end up throttled in the dumpster out back like Arlo had…
Quickly, Ali brought up the voice recording app on her phone and hit the big red button to start recording. Then she opened up the message thread with Delaney so that she could quickly message her if worse came to worst.
With everything now prepared, Ali gave herself one final parting look in the mirror, searching for her bravery inside of her, then pushed open the bathroom door and headed back into the restaurant, determined to ensnare a killer.
As she weaved back through the tables, she noticed how much quieter it now was. Several diners had left while she’d been in the bathroom, and the buzz of background chatter was dying down as closing time loomed. It felt eerie, and Ali shivered as she reached the table with Mr. Mundy and slid back into her seat.
The Herald was now lying on the table. But before Ali had a chance to ask anything about it, a group of merry diners approached them.
“Thanks for the great food, Mr. Mundy,” a large man said, slapping a big beefy hand on the guy’s shoulder.
“Best place in town!” one of the women in the party agreed.
“It’s my new favorite spot,” the first man added.
As the glowing praise rained down on the restaurateur, Ali noticed how he seemed entirely unaffected. In one ear and out the other. He’d clearly taken the words of Arlo’s bad review to heart, if all the actual praise he was being given was falling on deaf ears.
Ali could understand to an extent. Arlo’s review of Seaside Sweets had cut her deep, too. But not so deep she disregarded all the other positive feedback she’d received. And certainly not enough to decide to murder him…
“Night!” the revelers drunkenly shouted, as they all headed to the exit.
As they filed out into the evening, a disconcerting hush fell over the place. Ali looked around and saw there was hardly anyone else left inside now, just a few waiting staff tidying tables. She shivered uneasily. How long until they cleared out too, and there was no one left to witness whatever was to transpire.
Just then, the restaurateur’s face darted up. He nudged the Herald paper toward Ali, pushing it into the beam of the light from the tropical fish tank.
“Feast your eyes on that,” he said with a sneer, before leaning back on his chair and disappearing into the darkness.
With a tremor of nerves, Ali picked up the publication. She flicked through the pages until her eyes found the picture of Arlo in his bizarre hat and visor combo. It shook her right down to the core to be looking once more into the man’s eyes and it immediately brought flooding back the memory of him lying dead in the dumpster. And now the man who’d put him there was sitting right in front of her, submerged in shadows, intently watching her reaction.
She cleared her throat and began to read aloud, her voice quivering. “‘The Cove restaurant is one of Willow Bay’s best kept secrets’.” She paused. That was not what she’d been expecting. She frowned with confusion, re-reading the opening sentence again in her head, in case she’d made a mistake. But no. The opening was pleasant enough. So far, so good. Perhaps it was about to descend into vitriol? She continued aloud. “‘Tucked away just off the boardwalk street, The Cove is a local restaurant for local people, a gem kept out of sight of the busy throngs of tourists. Serving the best seafood—and atmosphere—in town, The Cove remains the go-to location for residents.”
Suddenly, Ali’s theory started to falter, to crack and wobble like a sandcastle on the beach. There was nothing in this article justifying murdering anyone over! If anything, Arlo had done Mr. Mundy a huge favor, by bringing the tucked away, clandestine place to the attention of the masses.
Had she made a mistake? Had she read into the situation what she wanted to see? Put two and two together and ended up with five?
Her eyes roved up to the restaurateur’s. “Am I missing something?” she asked. “This review is positive.”
With a look of disdain on his face, Mr. Mundy grasped his beer from the table and took a deep swig. “Oh it’s positive, alright. It’s practically glowing.” He said it through his teeth, in a bitter voice that did not match the content of his words.
Ali blinked at him, thoroughly confused. He’d admitted in his own words that the review was glowing, that it was positive, and yet he appeared to be seething with fury over it.
“It’s even more positive than the one I read online,” Ali continued. “If my review had be
en like this, I’d have been thrilled.”
“Thrilled?” the man echoed. His hand was smoothing down his tie again, with agitation. “You expected me to be thrilled?”
He was getting combative now, and Ali was still at a complete loss as to what the problem here was.
“Well, as a business owner myself I know how helpful reviews like this can be in bolstering trade,” Ali said. “And this one told all the tourists how to find you, since you’re so tucked out of the way.”
“Exactly!” the man said. “That’s the problem!”
Ali simply shook her head. She could not comprehend what Mr. Mundy was interpreting in the article. She started to wonder whether he was actually of sound mind. Perhaps he was mad.
Whatever it was causing the disjunct between Mr. Mundy and the reviews, Ali was left with the distinct impression that she’d massively misunderstood the situation. Mr. Mundy wasn’t a murderer at all. He was just some confused, mad drunk!
Feeling her cheeks flood with the heat of shame, Ali reached for her phone in her lap and clicked off the recording. She quickly x’d out of the app with Delaney and slid her cell back into her purse, feeling embarrassed about the call with her friend now she’d discovered what she had.
“I’d better go,” she told Mr. Mundy.
But as she went to raise herself out of her seat, the man thunked his hand on top of hers.
Ali startled, staring down at his hand pinning hers to the tabletop, feeling the clamminess of his nervous sweat. She looked into his eyes and saw a strange look there. He was clearly a troubled man, a man on the verge of something.
