A Perilous Cake Pop Page 11

  Ali turned it over in her hands, gazing at it as her mind sifted through everything she’d learned. She tried to imagine Ophelia and Arlo in happier times. Ophelia must have loved him a lot, at some point at least, to tie her entire destiny to his — career, home, even her reputation. Had it all gotten too much for her? She’d had a strange energy around him, Ali had noted back during his macaroon taste test, like she was somewhat apologetic. She’d carried his bags like a maid. Paid the bill like an assistant rather than a manager. In fact, Arlo had barely acknowledged her existence. And back during the argument on the pavement she’d quietly stood by, almost as if she’d been through such an experience before.

  Perhaps the stress of moving states had put more strain on the relationship than Ophelia could bear? Perhaps a situation she’d just about been coping with had suddenly become too much. Maybe the tire slashing was the last straw, the one that broke the camel’s back, and set off this horrible chain reaction? Ophelia might have chosen to dump Arlo in the bakery dumpster to direct the investigation toward Ali, and make sure it linked back to the review he had written. Perhaps this whole cupcake making event was some kind of distraction, too? To make Ali think she was on her side?

  Just then, Scruff came over and jumped up onto the couch beside Ali.

  “What do you think?” she asked him. “Should I call Ophelia?”

  He turned in a circle, sat down, and fell asleep.

  “Okay, maybe you’re right. Maybe I should take my time to consider it,” she said. “I don’t actually have my phone right now, either,” she remembered. It was zipped up in an evidence bag.

  For the first time, Ali wondered whether anyone in her family had attempted to get in touch with her today. They had the bakery landline number — which would just ring and ring without anyone there to answer it. And they had her cell number — which was not in her possession. If any of them had tried, would they be worried about not being able to reach her? Or would they just presume she was too busy to speak. Too busy, or in Teddy’s case, too mad.

  Ali ground her teeth. Usually Teddy was her go-to in times of stress, but she was still upset about what had transpired in the café about their father. He had no right to keep that from her. No right at all. And the fact he had made Ali feel oddly defensive over their father. It had the opposite effect of what Teddy had intended. Rather than keep her from wanting to know what had happened to him and why he’d left them, it actually made her feel more like she wanted to.

  Suddenly, there came a knock at the door, and Ali leapt a mile, startled out of her reverie. Scruff awakened and started to bark grumpily.

  “Who could that be?” Ali murmured under her breath.

  She didn’t usually get visitors to her apartment. With all the bad things going on around her, Ali couldn’t help but get an ominous feeling.

  She unfolded her legs from beneath her and went cautiously over to the door. She went up onto her tiptoes and looked through the peephole.

  She’d been right to feel ominous. Standing on her doorstep, looking stern and determined, was Detective Callihan.

  Ali’s heart began to pound. Was Detective Callihan going to arrest her?

  He knocked again, this time more insistently, and Ali jumped back from the door, panicking.

  “Police!” he shouted from the other side. “Open up.”

  Ali quickly leapt to action. The last thing she needed was her nosy neighbors knowing the cops had come to see her. She scrabbled with the lock and pulled open the door.

  “Miss Sweet,” Detective Callihan said, turning his gaze to meet hers. He flashed her his badge, even though they knew each other well enough by now. “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” Ali said.

  She pulled the door open, and Detective Calihan stepped inside. He glanced around himself at her modest apartment. His gaze found Scruff, the familiar boardwalk stray, curled up on the couch peering at him.

  “What’s this about?” Ali asked, as she closed the door behind him.

  He turned to face her. “I wanted to update you on the case. The coroner produced his report today.”

  Ali took a moment to process what he was telling her. While she’d been racing around conducting her own investigation, Arlo had been removed from the dumpster, and undergone an autopsy. The cops, meanwhile, had been pursuing other lines of investigation, too, and now all three different paths were converging in her living room.

  “What did it say?” she asked.

  “Well, as we suspected, Arlo was choked to death. But not with hands.”

  Ali paused. “What with?”

  “Something thin by the looks of the ligature marks. The team is still going through the dumpster looking for evidence. Rope or…” His voice faded out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Detective Elton has it in her head that we’re looking for apron strings.”

  Ali’s stomach plummeted. It already looked terrible for her that Arlo had been choked to death, because of how well it matched up to the words he’d used in his review to attack her. And now he’d been killed with rope thin enough to be apron strings? It just made her look worse and worse.

  “Sebastian, I swear I didn’t do this,” Ali said. “Someone must be framing me? Surely? It all matches up too neatly to be a coincidence.”

  Detective Callihan nodded. “I know it wasn’t you, Ali. It’s Detective Elton who needs convincing. And that statement you gave isn’t doing you any favors. A thirty-minute phone call with your sister? That leaves you the whole evening to kill Arlo and dump the body. Isn’t there anything else you can think of that can tie you solidly down to being at home all night?”

  “My sleep app?” Ali suggested. “It monitors my heart rate and logs when I’m asleep. I got one to help me get into a healthy routine with all those super early mornings I work. After speaking to Hannah, I went to bed, and there can’t have been more than an hour between the two. Certainly not enough time to kill a guy and dump him.”

  “That’s good,” Detective Callihan replied, looking ponderous. “Is the data reliable though? Or can you fake it?” He pointed at Scruff. “Could you hook it up to your pet while he’s asleep, for example? Make it look like his data is yours.”

  “I’ve no idea,” Ali said. “Because I’m not a murderer so I haven’t thought of doing such a thing. Besides, Scruff isn’t my dog as you well know. This is the first time he’s slept over.”

  “I mean, it might help put a bit of doubt in Detective Elton’s mind,” Callihan said. “Can I look at it?”

  Ali shook her head. “My phone is in evidence.”

  “It is?” He looked perplexed.

  “Detective Elton took it.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Detective Callihan replied, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ll try and get it released for you asap.”

  Ali regarded him with curiosity. “Why are you helping me?”

  “What?” he said, seemingly taken off guard.

  “Why are you helping me?” Ali repeated. “Why are you going so far out of your way?”

  “Because there’s a murderer on the loose, and while Detective Elton’s looking in the wrong place, someone’s getting away with it scott-free. It’s about getting justice for the victim, Ali.”

  Ali could hear a hint of defensiveness in his tone but couldn’t really understand where it was coming from. She cast her mind back through their history. Perhaps Detective Callihan was referring to the past when she’d attempted to solve cases and had been accused of getting in the way?

  Then, as if reading her mind, Detective Callihan added, “I saw you on the boardwalk today. Going into different vendors’ stores. Are you conducting your own investigation?”

  Ali bit her bottom lip.

  “Ali!” Detective Callihan snapped. “You have got to butt out of this. It’s a police investigation. For all we know, the killer is targeting you.”

  Ali’s eyes widened. “What? Why would they be targeting me?”

  “Because the evi
dence is setting you up. Ali, I think there’s a chance you have an enemy. If I were you, I’d lay low.”

  His words echoed in her mind. Could it be true? Was Arlo murdered to frame her? Did she have an enemy?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ali mulled over Detective Callihan’s words long after he’d left her apartment. Could someone really be out to get her? To bring her down? There were many coincidences, too many to ignore. She shuddered, not wanting to even entertain the thoughts. But Ali quickly found her mind turning to negativity.

  Arlo’s horrible review swam in her head, mixing with Hannah’s horrible words, her mom’s criticisms, the argument with Teddy.

  “Can’t anyone be forgiving?” Ali mused aloud.

  Suddenly, it hit her. A eureka moment.

  The editor from the Willow Bay Herald had said the last critic had been let go in favor of Arlo because he was considered “too forgiving.” If that prior writer had lost his job to Arlo, could he have seen red and killed him in revenge? To get his job back?

  Ali leapt into action, buzzing with excitement that there was a new lead to search.

  She grabbed her laptop and plonked herself down on the couch beside Scruff, who was snoring softly. She went online and started looking into the writer Aro had replaced.

  His name was Timothy Clarke, and by the looks of the photo beside his bio, he looked like a friendly enough guy, with big chubby cheeks, a jolly grin, and a head of messy, curly hair. He certainly didn’t look like a killer, but Ali knew looks could be deceiving.

  She quickly read the byline.

  Timothy’s love of cooking began at the tender age of five when he started baking with his mother. As he grew older, he realized he preferred eating food to cooking it, and his love of reviewing began. A staff writer for thirty-years and counting, Timothy couldn’t imagine doing anything else!

  “Uh-oh,” Ali said.

  Timothy Clarke had maintained a settled job — one he appeared to love — for thirty years, only to be ousted by the young, vile Arlo Hudson. That was the sort of upset that could rock the psyche of even the calmest of people…

  Ali clicked on the first link to see what his article was like.

  The Café on Willow Bay’s boardwalk is a whimsical wonderland serving the most delectable of dishes. It is definitely a place for indulgence... and indigestion.

  Ali chuckled. Timothy Clarke was a good writer, and she much preferred his friendly, enthusiastic tone to Arlo’s sneering, snide one. In fact, he very much seemed like the polar opposite to Arlo. Losing out his job to someone like that must’ve really stung.

  Ali looked at his photo again. Was his happy grin masking a dark mind? Was this the face of Arlo’s killer?

  Ali wrote his name onto the list beneath Ophelia’s. Neither seemed like the right fit to her, and yet both had compelling motives. But while Ali had actually spoken to Ophelia, she hadn’t had a chance to speak to Timothy, to assess him in the flesh. There was no substitute for face-to-face contact when it came to impressions. She needed to question him and get the proper low-down.

  She looked over at the door, weighing up the pros and cons of going to speak to Timothy. Detective Callihan seemed to think it would be dangerous, and that she should lay low. But Ali wasn’t the sort to sit around waiting. Now she’d found a new lead and formed a new theory, she felt compelled to follow it.

  And so, against Detective Callihan's advice, Ali decided to go.

  She wrote down Timothy Clarke’s address, then headed for the door, buzzing. As she pulled the door open, she heard a small bark coming from behind. She turned to see Scruff was right there, wide awake, tail wagging.

  “You want to come with me?” she asked him.

  He barked again. Ali took that as a yes. And with that, she headed out to investigate the new lead, the scruffy stray dog following along like a shadow.

  *

  Ali hadn’t made it far along the boardwalk, when she spotted none other than Ophelia. It was almost like she was hanging around like a bad smell. Only this time, she wasn’t alone. She was with a guy…

  Ali ducked behind a palm tree out of sight. She watched as Ophelia and the man strolled slowly down the boardwalk, arm in arm, looking extremely happy together. Ali couldn't believe what she was seeing. Ophelia looked happy. Giddy, even. Had she already moved on from Arlo?

  Ali suddenly gasped as another thought hit her. Were the cupcakes for the event Ophelia wanted to hire her for possibly a wedding? Was that why Ophelia had seemed shifty, because she didn’t want to tell Ali the truth? What other event could possibly require a couple of hundred cupcakes other than a wedding!

  Forgetting all about her other lead, Ali jumped out from behind the palm tree into the path of Ophelia and her new fancy man. The two immediately sprang apart, like they’d been caught doing something naughty.

  It took all of Ali’s willpower not to shout, “Aha! Caught you red handed!”

  “Do you know this woman?” the man asked Ophelia.

  Ophelia shook her head rapidly and tugged on his arm trying to get him away.

  “It’s me,” Ali said, not letting her off the hook. “Ali.”

  “Oh,” Ophelia said, pretending to suddenly remember her. “Ali. Yes, I do know her. She’s a… Um… local. A neighbor.”

  “A baker,” Ali said. “Ophelia wanted to hire me for a very special event.” She tapped her chin. “Although she never did tell me what it was. Something big, for a hundred and fifty people. Sounds like some kind of celebration to me.”

  Ophelia looked extremely uncomfortable. Her demeanor only added more fuel to the fire. Ali was growing more and more certain.

  “Just a get together,” Ophelia mumbled.

  “A celebration?” Ali pressed.

  “Mm-hmm,” Ophelia replied, averting her gaze.

  Beside her, the man was looking increasingly confused.

  Ali could stand it no more. Ophelia wasn’t going to crack, and Ali wasn’t about to let her get away with this, so brazenly.

  “It’s for a wedding, isn’t it?” she accused.

  Ophelia’s eyes went round with alarm, telling Ali everything she needed to know.

  “Aha!” Ali cried, no longer able to hold it in. “I knew it! You’re getting married. You killed Arlo to get him out of the way and now you’re getting married!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  As Ali’s accusation punctuated the air, Ophelia’s mouth fell wide open. So, too, did the mouth of the man standing beside her—or should Ali say her fiance standing beside her?

  “Ophelia?” he asked, turning to face her and frowning. “What is she talking about? I don’t understand.”

  “He doesn’t know?” Ali challenged. “He doesn’t know what you really are?”

  Ophelia looked like she was caught between a rock and a hard place, her gaze going back and forth between the two of them.

  “Ophelia, tell me now what’s going on,” the man demanded.

  Ophelia huffed loudly and mumbled under her breath. “The wedding is for you.”

  Ali could hardly believe it. Ophelia must be pure evil, to not only kill her former lover for another man, but for the poor man to not even realize he’d been duped. The whole revelation had quite clearly come as a shock to him.

  “But I’m already married,” he stammered, looking increasingly confused and astonished.

  Ali was completely stunned. The plot just kept getting thicker!

  “It was meant to be a surprise!” Ophelia cried. She gestured to Ali. “That’s who Ali is. The baker. And Ali, this is my brother—”

  “ —brother?” Ali interjected with disbelief. Ophelia might’ve been able to fool this man, but she certainly wasn’t fooling Ali. Her gaze went back and forth between Ophelia and the man, searching for a single characteristic they had in common. There was none. When it came to physical resemblance, they scored a zero. They had absolutely nothing in common.

  Although... on second thought, now Ali thought about it
, perhaps if Ophelia’s hair wasn’t dyed black and purple... and perhaps if it was the same basic brown color as the man’s… perhaps then they might look vaguely related?

  “I told you,” Ophelia said sternly. “I had family visiting, remember?” She was starting to look thoroughly miffed now. “Lysander came as soon as he could.”

  With a gasp of realization, Ali made the connection. Ophelia. Lysander. They were both characters from…

  “Shakespeare,” Lysander said, clearly anticipating a question Ali had not yet asked. It must’ve come up a lot for the two siblings. But the way he said it—with an air of astonishment, confusion, and disbelief—made it clear to Ali his mind was elsewhere, that he was speaking on auto pilot because his brain was too busy processing the surprise of Ophelia’s revelation.

  Ali’s stomach plummeted as she started to appreciate the terrible mistake she’d just made.

  “Katie wanted to surprise you with a commitment ceremony,” Ophelia explained. “She called me and asked for me to arrange the catering. She thought it would be cool and give me something to distract myself from the awful situation with. I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

  She turned her eyes down to the ground glumly, and Ali’s heart sank. What a mess. Not only had she ruined the romantic surprise Lysander’s wife was trying to arrange, she’d also taken away Ophelia’s only distraction from her grief. And worse, she’d incorrectly accused her of a terrible crime! Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  “Ophelia, I'm so sorry,” she stammered.

  But Ophelia shook her head. “Save it. I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

  And with that, she turned around and marched away, dragging her stunned looking brother with her, and leaving an utterly mortified Ali behind on the boardwalk.

  Ali was thoroughly embarrassed by what had happened with Ophelia. Not only had she blamed the wrong person—to their face, no less— but she’d also lost out on the chance to cater for the wedding. That could’ve been a big source of much needed income and Ali couldn’t help but feel furious with herself for jumping the gun. She decided to be more cautious going forward.