A TREACHEROUS TART

by Fiona Grace

  “Me?” Ali asked. “Why me? Because I’m the baker?”

  She scoffed, but Piper gave her a look.

  “Ali, don’t underestimate these forums. These people dig deep. You being the baker only scratches the surface of why you’re the prime suspect. There’s loads more evidence to support their theory.”

  “Like what?” Ali huffed, hands on hips. This was all so ridiculous. She shouldn’t need to defend herself to a self-proclaimed armchair sleuth!

  “Well, you being the first to comment to the press didn’t help things,” Piper said, knowingly. “The first person to blab to the camera is almost always the killer.”

  “I didn’t comment to the press,” Ali cried incredulously, before remembering the film crew shoving a mic under her nose. “Unless you mean those pesky cable cameramen?”

  “Whoever they were, their feed was broadcasting live,” Piper said with a shrug. “And everyone on the forums knows the killer can’t help but seek the spotlight.”

  “I’m not the killer!” Ali cried. “And I didn’t seek the spotlight. The camera got shoved in my face.”

  None of this seemed to matter one bit. Clearly such discrepancies between reality and fantasy were irrelevant in the eyes of the online sleuths if it didn’t support their theory.

  “Who is this person?” Ali demanded, waving her arm at Piper’s cell phone. “Why are they spreading rumors about me?”

  Piper tapped some buttons. “The main accuser has the username SurferC. She’s female. Nineteen. From Willow Bay. And she’s posted three hundred times…”

  “Three hundred times?” Ali exclaimed, her eyebrows flying up with surprise.

  “…today,” Piper finished.

  Ali shook her head with disapproval. This was simply crazy. She herself couldn’t think of three hundred pieces of newsworthy information to post and she’d literally been at the scene of the crime. Whoever this SurferC was, she clearly had some sort of vendetta against her…

  “Ooof,” Piper said, grimacing. “SurferC really doesn’t like you…”

  “What’s she saying now?” Ali asked.

  Piper twisted her lips. “I dunno, Ali. It might be better not to say.”

  Ali held her hand out, palm up, for the phone.

  “Nah, I think I’ll just get on with some cleaning…” Piper said, sliding the phone back into her pocket.

  “Fine,” Ali said. “I’ll just look for myself.”

  She retrieved her own phone from her pocket and searched for Armchair Sleuths. The forum was easy to find, and she scrolled through the myriad different threads about unsolved crimes. There were thousands of them. Didn’t these people have anything better to do with their time?

  She found what she was looking for under a flashing banner, crassly titled: Trending Now! The Murder of Famous Competitive Eater Gilbert “The Gobbler” Brown!

  This all seemed extremely distasteful to Ali. If she wasn’t in the middle of an online witch hunt, she’d avoid such dark corners of the internet like the plague. But she needed to know what they were saying if she was going to be able to defend herself.

  Ali began scanning through the posts. They began safely enough, with just pieces of information duplicated from other social media platforms as the scene began unfolding. It was strange to see the scene she’d witnessed firsthand re-explained through the lens of the internet. It already felt as if certain things were getting lost in translation and twisted around.

  Then she spotted a post from SurferC, and she laser focused on it. Her post was in a subsection section called “Suspects In The Murder Of Gilbert Brown.” And there it was, in black and white, her own name.

  Each contribution had an explanation to accompany it. Ali read it aloud. “Allison Sweet may well be a serial killer. This isn’t the first time she’s been linked to a murder in this town. She is dating a local detective, and I think he helps her cover up her crimes.” Ali scoffed and gave Piper an unimpressed look. “Oh, come on, this is ridiculous. We went on one date, and most of that was spent fifty feet apart, with him stuck at the bar trying to replace my spilled soda.”

  “You’ve got to admit it makes you look shady,” Piper said.

  Ali went back to reading SurferC’s scathing explanation aloud. “The other thing with Allison Sweet that people need to know about is that she’s a proven liar and immoral to boot. She once dated two men at the same time and only stopped when they found out about the other and challenged her. Anyone in doubt over a sweet baker being a killer need only look at her past to realize looks can be deceptive. Even her own dad wants nothing to do with her. If that’s not evidence she’s a psychopath, I don’t know what is. Piper, this is so stupid. It sounds like something from Teddy’s bad movie.”

  “People love bad movies,” Piper replied.

  It was too stupid for Ali to actually be angry. In fact, it was so stupid it was verging on farcical. But Ali didn’t feel much like laughing. A man had been killed, and rather than put their energy into finding the truth, some hater online was using it as an opportunity to drag her name through the mud. As far as Ali knew, she hadn’t made any enemies in Willow Bay. Who could dislike her so much they would try and implicate her in a murder?

  “Who is this idiot?” Ali muttered aloud, tapping on their icon to see their linked profile screen.

  She read the same list of descriptors Piper had: SurferC was nineteen years old, female, a resident of Willow Bay. But there was another piece of information that Piper had failed to say aloud. SurferC’s profession was listed as…hot dog maker.

  “Carys!” Ali cried, furiously.

  Her ex’s new girlfriend was the propagator of the rumors?

  Ali had seen enough. She closed the web sleuths page and jammed the phone back into her pocket. The whole thing had stressed her out even more. There was only one thing for it. She headed to the kitchen to stress-bake.

  “Um, Ali,” Piper said as she went. “There’s probably not much point baking anything today. Everyone’s boycotting Seaside Sweets until the police rule you out as a suspect.”

  “Of course they are,” Ali said with a huff.

  “And besides, we should probably close. It might be dangerous to stay open if a bunch of weirdo competitive eater fans think you killed one of their stars.”

  Ali had no choice but to relent. But she grabbed some ingredients to take home with her so at the very least she could stress-bake there. Then she closed up the store, locked it securely, and headed home.

  *

  As she marched home, head bowed, hood drawn, Ali heard the welcome bark of Scruff.

  “Come on, boy,” she said, unlocking her front door. “Let’s get inside.”

  He followed her readily, trotting alongside her as she crossed the dingy living room to the kitchen area and dumped her bag of ingredients on the counter.

  “Thanks for not turning on me,” she said to the dog, grabbing a cereal bowl from the cupboard and filling it with kibble. “You’re the only one on my side.”

  She set it down on the floor and Scruff began devouring it. Ali was relieved there was at least someone in this town who didn’t suspect her. But the thought anyone did was really bothering her. Carys’s actions were more than just childish, they were potentially really harmful. To her reputation. Her business. Maybe even to the investigation, if the police got wind of them.

  Ali couldn’t just let this slide. She needed to make sure everyone else knew she wasn’t the killer. She had to clear her name. And that meant doing a little bit of sleuthing of her own…

  As Scruff continued munching, Ali grabbed a notebook and pen.

  “Okay. Suspects,” she said, tapping the pen against the paper. “Suspects…”

  She couldn’t help but think immediately of Seth and his outburst. She hated to even think it, but could he have sabotaged the event as payback? Killing a competitor with an allergen would certainly be a way to get back at the organizer, by trapping them in the sort of health and safety quagmire f
rom which one can never return. And the oyster packet was right there, in plain view, almost as if to make it seem like a mistake. Because if it was the murder weapon, as Detective Elton proclaimed, then the killer could’ve easily hidden it. Choosing to leave it there in broad daylight may be an attempt to steer the investigation away from murder and toward an accident.

  Ali began to wonder how long Seth and Emilio were at the event before she arrived. Long enough for Emilio to phone her and ask where she was, but not very long, because Seth was still furious about the whole Sullivan situation when she got there. And though it only gave him a slim window of time to contaminate the hot dogs, that didn’t mean he hadn’t…

  Seth even left the event saying he couldn’t watch, Ali recalled. Could it be that he didn’t want to watch a man die?

  Just then, Scruff’s bark tore her from her thoughts. She glanced down at the straggly stray, who was now wagging his tail eagerly beside his empty dog bowl. She felt instantly ashamed of the thoughts she’d been entertaining.

  There was only one thing for it. She needed to speak to Seth and hear it from the horse’s mouth.

  She hurried for the door, grabbing her keys off the counter as she went. “Coming?” she asked over her shoulder, only for Scruff to bolt past her legs and beat her to the front door. Despite the stress of the situation, Ali found herself smiling. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  She opened the door, and with her trusty dog at her side, headed out to investigate the murder of Gilbert “The Gobbler” Brown and clear her name.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Ali stood outside of Best Hot Dogs and stared at the metal shutters pulled down over the doors and windows.

  “That’s weird,” she said to Scruff, who was sitting at her feet looking just as perplexed as she felt. “I guess Seth didn’t come here after he left the contest after all.”

  Ali was about to turn around and head toward Seth’s apartment, when something fluttering in the wind caught her attention. There appeared to be a handwritten note attached to the shutters. Her curiosity spiked, and Ali paced over to the shutters, craning her head to read the note as it flapped in the breeze.

  “Due to unforeseen circumstances, Best Hot Dogs will be closed today,” she read aloud. The note was in Seth’s penmanship. She recognized it immediately.

  She straightened up with a frown. She needed to find Seth so she could put the doubt in her mind to rest, since she wouldn’t be happy until she’d eradicate him as a suspect from her mind once and for all.

  “He must have gone home instead,” she told Scruff. “Let’s try his house.”

  The little stray barked his agreement and they headed off side by side in the direction of Seth’s apartment.

  As they went, Ali wondered whether the unforeseen circumstances that had caused Seth to close up for the day was the death of Gilbert the Gobbler. Why he felt the need to shut up shop because of that, Ali was not sure. Emilio had been careful to keep his name out of the police investigation and if no one suspected him of anything, then what reason did he have to hide away? He didn’t have a whole forum of armchair detectives out to get him like she did, either. The fact he’d closed up left Ali with an unsettled feeling deep in her gut.

  Ali and the pup reached Seth’s apartment block. He lived in one of the large, white-painted seafront blocks. Each apartment had a small balcony out the front, with rusty railings and tiled floors. Seth’s apartment was on the ground floor, though, so he had no real outside space, and his front door was in perpetual shadow, since it was positioned directly beneath an overhanging balcony.

  Ali stepped into the shadows, Scruff at her side, and rapped her knuckles on Seth’s door. No sounds came from inside, so Ali cupped her hands and peered through the small window in the door. It was frosted glass, so impossible to see clearly through, but she’d still be able to see movement if there was any. No signs of life, and all the lights inside were off, too. Seth’s apartment could get pretty dark, and Ali knew if he were inside there’d be a light shining somewhere she’d be able to see. But there was nothing. Seth wasn’t home either.

  “That’s weird,” Ali said, starting to grow concerned now. It wasn’t like Seth to close up shop and leave town unannounced. In fact, in all the time Ali had known him, he’d never so much as taken a weekend off. Just like when she first started her bakery, Seth worked every day of the week, and if he wasn’t on site he would never be more than five minutes’ distance away from it. There was of course a small chance he’d gone to the Cash ’n’ Carry to stock up on ingredients after the hot dog contest, but as soon as Ali even thought it, she spotted his work van parked in the lot. His car, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

  Ali’s mind started racing. It really looked as if Seth had skipped town. But why? Was he waiting for all the upheaval from Gilbert’s death to die down, or was there something else? Had he skipped town because he was trying to avoid something, like the rumor mill… or the detectives?

  Ali instantly felt guilty for entertaining such a thought. She shook her head in an attempt to shake it away, but now that the seed of doubt had lodged in place, she knew the only way she’d be able to cross Seth off her mental suspects list would be to speak to him directly, to look him straight in the eye and hear it from the horse’s mouth that he was innocent. Anything less than that would not satisfy her.

  She got out her cell and dialed Seth’s number. She listened to the dial tone expectantly, but wasn’t really surprised when it went to voicemail.

  Ali was about to leave a message asking where he was when a voice coming from nowhere distracted her.

  “Can I help you?” the voice said.

  Ali hung up the call and glanced around, searching for the owner of the voice. Scruff started to bark, so she followed the direction his nose was pointing and discovered a middle-aged woman resting her arms on the railing of the balcony above peering down at them. None of Seth’s upstairs neighbors had been on their balconies when Ali and Scruff had arrived, so she must have come out at the sound of Ali’s knocking. Which meant she was a busybody, Ali decided.

  Shielding her eyes against the sun, Ali peered up at the woman. She was wearing an unflattering white spaghetti strap top and her pale arms were nearly glowing in the sunshine.

  “I’m looking for Seth,” Ali called up to her. “He lives in the apartment below you. Have you seen him today?”

  “I’ve seen him, all right,” the neighbor replied in a grave, conspiratorial voice. “He left in his car. With a woman.”

  She put a very dramatic emphasis on the final word. Ali’s thoughts went straight to Carys. She and Seth worked together. It wasn’t unusual for them to be in a car together.

  “Was she young?” she asked. “Brunette? Hair in a ponytail?”

  “No, no, no,” the neighbor replied, with an air of malevolent glee. “She was blonde. Elegant. Curvaceous. Nicely dressed.”

  Now the neighbor was really hamming it up, and Ali really didn’t know what to make of it. The neighbor was making great pains to emphasize the mystery woman’s physical characteristics, implying that Seth had gone on a date, which seemed like a rather odd thing to do in Ali’s opinion, considering there was a murder investigation going on.

  “There’s plenty more fish in the sea,” the woman on the balcony said suddenly, breaking through her thoughts.

  “What?” Ali asked.

  “I said there’s plenty more fish in the sea. Don’t waste your time on a man like that.”

  “Oh,” Ali said, shaking her head. “That’s not why I’m looking for him.”

  “I had my heart broken by a handsome New Yorker once as well,” the woman continued, clearly not paying attention to Ali’s protestations. “I thought it was the end of the world at the time. Now? Can’t even remember his name!” She cackled loudly. “Men come and go. Best not to get hung up on them.”

  “Um… thanks for the advice,” Ali said, at a loss on how to respond. Then she flashed the woman a thu
mbs-up and turned to walk away.

  She hadn’t made it far when she heard the woman’s voice calling out to her once again.

  “Don’t you want to know where he went?”

  She whirled on the spot. “Yes! You know where he went?”

  The woman looked proud. “I overheard them talking before they got in the car,” she said, as if this was something worth bragging about. “They’re heading downtown.”

  Downtown? Ali thought. Where all the fancy restaurants are? It really did sound like Seth had gone on a date.

  She looked back up at the woman. “Thanks!” she called, then hurried off, Scruff at her heel, and headed in the direction of downtown Willow Bay.

  *

  Ali pounded the sidewalk downtown, peeping in through the windows of the restaurants as discreetly as she could. Which wasn’t very discreet at all considering there was a scruffy stray dog trotting along beside her.

  She stopped outside the French restaurant and cupped her hands to the window. As she scanned the dining area, a prickle went up her spine. She was being watched. Then suddenly her gaze landed on a tall, skinny man inside the restaurant. He had a thin gray handlebar moustache and was glowering at her with his arms folded. It was one of the servers. He flapped his hands at her in a shoo gesture.

  With a squirm of embarrassment, Ali backed away from the window. Seth and his mystery woman weren’t inside anyway, so there was no reason to keep standing there humiliating herself.

  “This is useless, Scruff,” she said with frustrated exhalation.

  It felt like she was on a wild goose chase, following a lead she didn’t even want to consider.

  “Maybe we should change tack?” she murmured, glancing left and right along the swanky, twinkly street lamp lit street. It was full of relaxed diners going merrily about their happy lives, oblivious to the frantic murder investigation Ali had found herself in the middle of.

  Suddenly, someone bumped into Ali.

  “Ouch!” she exclaimed, jumping back.