Cinnamon And Secrets

by D. S. Mowbray

  “Sir, your driver is here for you,” he tells Braiden, who asks for a few additional minutes.

  “Don’t plug yourself away.” He tells me. “You’re always there for everyone. Just try and be a little selfish for once.” He smiles contagiously, and I do too.

  When he’s about to go, he leans in for a hug, and it’s warm and sweet and I never want to pull back. But when he does so, I stare into his eyes pleadingly, and that’s when our lips meet.

  The whole place around us lights up with magical Christmas lights and ornaments. It feels like I’m snuggling up by the fireplace with only Braiden and a hot cup of cocoa.

  That’s how I’ve imagined it would be like to kiss him.

  But it’s better than that. He’s gentle and sweet, and tastes amazingly like cinnamon.

  Oh, I never want to draw back.

  Not now, when my most beautiful wish is coming true.

  But it came true to end so fast.

  What good is kissing him when I won’t be able to do that in the days to come?

  Oh, my world is a clutter. I’m just thinking too much, even when I’m clutched onto the arms of the most alluring man I know.

  “Do you have any update on what happened to Kegan?” I ask the detective, who’s decided to pay me a visit for his usual order.

  “I’m not supposed to tell you this,” his voice lowers a bit, and I’m kind of startled that he’s willing to share information with me, since until a while ago I was on his suspect’s list. “But we found his phone.”

  “You did?” I ask, shocked. “Where?”

  “It was thrown a block away from Mr. Gleason’s house. The last thing he did on it was sending a text to you.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” I frown, and suddenly a lot of things don’t add up. “It seems like something happened to him. Which doesn’t make sense, since Mrs. Hopper told me she saw him a day ago at the store. Maybe he just lost his phone?” I frown.

  “How can you lose your phone when you’re in the verge of texting someone? This looks enforced.”

  He’s making a good point. I’m sure something has happened to him. And the more we look into this mystery, the most complicated it gets. Somehow it all feels cluttered up.

  “Ainsley, this looks dangerous,” the detective tells me. “I know you’re determined to find this murderer, but we don’t know what we’re up against. If something happened to Kegan, it could happen to you too. So, please, stay out of it.”

  I just try to form a smile, but I’m scoffing instead. He cannot ask me to draw back now that my friend is in trouble. And I feel sort of blameworthy since he was texting me when he vanished away. If I hadn’t bothered him with my inquiry, he was going to stay focused on the situation, and maybe none of this would’ve happened.

  “What is wrong?” the detective has noticed my confusion.

  “He told me that he knew who the housebreaker was. And he suspected they were connected to the murder too.”

  “I know, I read the text.”

  “What if he was attacked?” my eyes are bulging, voice flinching with suspicion. “What if the thief knew Kegan blew up their cover, and they couldn’t have that? I mean, if they were capable of murder once, do you think—?” my hands cover my mouth, as I stop myself, not able to fetch it up.

  “We’re not sure. But we’re going to see into this, I promise. Meanwhile you do what you do best—keep this shop of yours running. I think it’s going to be at full attendance now that people have something to talk about.”

  “Detective,” I hoist my eyes to meet his, my voice barely a whisper. “Thank you for trusting me on this and sharing this information.”

  He just nods, amicably.

  “One more thing,” I ask, stopping him from swinging back. “Do you believe what Kegan told me, you know, about the murderer being a girl?”

  “We don’t know for sure what Kegan saw, and if that thief was a murderer in the first place. But if you’re implying whether this looks suspicious. Then, my answer is yes.”

  I guess what has put me out of the list of suspects is the fact that Kegan was texting me before he vanished away. Or maybe it’s something else. I don’t know, but surely it was nice to see the detective treating me decently for once.

  Focusing on my work, I am startled to see the person I least expected coming into my shop. I scowl for a few seconds, not knowing how I should react, trying to figure what she is doing here, because I think ordering cupcakes in not the motive of her unexpected visit.

  “Reese?” I mumble, confused. Last time I saw her, she didn’t strike me as someone who enjoyed casual chit-chat.

  “Look,” she jumps straight to the point. See? Not one for casual chit-chat. “I know that I may come off a little grudging sometimes, and that I probably need to work on my approaching skills, but I tried to call him, after you showed up by my door, and he’s not picking up. What is going on here?”

  Wow, and here I thought she didn’t really give a hoot about her brother. Guess I was wrong. Unless there’s a vaster agenda in spot.

  “The detective is involved. Whatever happened to him, we’ll be able to find out.”

  I’m, like, so confused right now. Reese is on top of the list of suspects right now. Is she trying to dig information about the investigation out of me? I don’t know what to do.

  “I try to see everything as a competition. And he’s so talented, he became my number one rival. I may come off as a total prig, but I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him.” Her voice is so mild and she sounds so genuine, but then again, so would be a pathological killer. They perfect the art of murder to the point where nobody would suspect them.

  “Reese,” I know she’s so vulnerable now (or at least she looks likes it) so while we’re at it, why not seize the opportunity? “I know I asked you this before, and probably I’m on a fool’s errand, but I’ll take another chance, anyway. What are you doing in Lazulville?”

  She looks at me a few seconds as if she didn’t get the question, and after what seems like a thoughtful segment, she comes back at me with a retort. This time a genuine one. “My uncle always thought I was special. He loved everyone, but I think he loved me better. And I thought that I’d use this on my advantage, so I could profit by this. You know in business it never is enough. And just imagine how powerful I’d be if I were to gather a lot of his money. Before the cupcake shop party, I had a conversation with him, and I gathered that he was onto giving most of his money away. I just couldn’t have that. What was supposed to be my fortune, would all go to waste.”

  “Being charitable is not wasting.” I demand.

  “I try to put all my connections in use. I tried to trick them into changing the will, or terminating it for good.”

  Oh, God. She looks so sincere, and if she’s the killer, why would she be telling me sorted information?

  “Kegan just wanted to stop me. He was in on what I was up to. But I eccentrically pushed him away. I mean, even I cannot believe how selfish I’ve been.” She supports her elbows on the counter, covering her face with her hands.

  “Reese, what were you and Mrs. Hopper talking about last day? She told me she’d seen Kegan at the grocery store.”

  “The old lady is nuts. She came up to me and started asking me all sorts of bizarre questions about my brother. And I had to push her away.” I hinge back, with bulging eyes, and she spots my complexion. “Metaphorically speaking.” She clarifies.

  “Oh,” I sigh, confused. Somehow everything is starting to get stranger than I can handle. “Anyway,” I come back to the situation. “Is there something I can get you?”

  “Nah,” she fumbles. “I just stopped by trying to check whether you had any information about Kegan. I could speak to the detective, but he’d be so discreet anyway.”

  “That’s him. Discreet.” I repeat, while Reese spreads an enforced smile and goes away.

  She just mucked things up in my head. If I ha
d a list of suspects before (with Reese topping that list) I’m not sure how available that is anymore. I try to concentrate to sort it out, trying to find a link, a connection, something. But it’s just futile.

  And my thinking time comes to an end, when Heather comes by that door, with a desperate smile on her face and approaches to the counter.

  “What’s with the long face?” I ask her, trying to get the attention off of the mystery for once.

  “Rylan bailed out on me again,” she scoffs, supporting her elbows on the counter, and pressing her wrists to either sides of her face.

  Something about his name strikes a note and I remind of my feelings toward her boyfriend, but I think that now it’s not the best time to have this conversation. Maybe it’s best it I talk about something different instead. Realizing that I haven’t shared the most cherished and gloomy (at the same time) moment of my life with her, a smile conjoins and I open my mouth.

  “Braiden and I shared an amazingly delectable kiss,” I say with a huge grin.

  “What? When did this happen?” suddenly her eyes spark with curiosity, yearning to learn more.

  “He also left town, for good.” I add, and the glint on Heather’s eyes vanished.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “It’s complicated,” I remember that I haven’t shared everything with her lately. And I’m trying to manage a shop here, so I think this conversation would suit a cozy afternoon with a cup of tea. So I decide to postpone it.

  “How are you holding up?” her hands find mine in a sign of comfort and suddenly I’m dragged to all the gloomy feelings I’ve been trying to snub.

  “I sort of haven’t thought about it. Everything is fumbling, and I’m trying to deal with this mess.”

  “More specific, please?”

  “I am now sure that something has happened to Kegan. Nobody’s heard of him since he went missing. Reese came to the shop a moment ago and she put her eccentric behavior aside and was actually nice. I mean, she was my number one suspect. What am I supposed to do now?”

  “How about just calm down? It is not your responsibility to solve every mystery in town. Just draw back and relax for a minute. You deserve it.”

  “That’s what Braiden said,” I mumble wistfully, while Heather ignores me and she focuses on her tablet, scrolling through a bunch of pictures. “What are you doing?” I ask, as she disinterestedly scrolls through random pics she’s saved on her tablet PC.

  “This my ‘things that I want’ collection. I’ve saved everything exquisite I’ve found on the internet, and I get to it every time I’m feeling sad, in hopes that it would cheer me up, while pretending that I have all these things.”

  “Oh,” I fumble and find this method therapeutically affective and bizarre at the same time. While she keeps swiping with her finger, I spot something that draws my attention. “Hey, what was that?” I ask.

  “What? This?” she swipes back and a picture of a sweater made of cotton candy pops up. Why would she need that, I have no idea, but I don’t have time to ask for it.

  “No. Before that.”

  “Oh, that’s just a picture of stolen goods reported a couple of weeks ago. I think you’ve seen this before,” she hoists her eyes from the tablet and into mine, and I look totally befuddled at the screen, suddenly coming to the wished conclusion.

  “I most certainly have.” I reassure her, not able to get my eyes off of the exquisite necklace on the screen.

  “Why do I get the feelings you’re up to something?” Heather raises an eyebrow at me, suspiciously.

  “Would you mind covering for me for a couple of minutes,” I say, hurrying out of the counter.

  “Where are you going?” she just seems perplexed by my behavior.

  “I know who the murderer is.” I say and hasten my way out of the door.

  “But, Ainsley,” Heather points, but I’m far gone by now to give her to retort.

  It was the necklace. I put it all together. How didn’t I think of it before? It’s been there the whole time and I never suspected about her.

  I’m standing in front of her door, but I hesitate to knock. It’s silent. The garden is impeccable as always, but other than that everything is mundane. The door is cracked open just a little, and if I were to just give it a little push, it would swing open, and I could get inside. But I knock instead. I still cannot come to terms with why she did this. It’s so unbelievable.

  No one opens the door, and this time I decide to knock again. I’m not getting out of here, until I get some answers. She has to explain everything to me before she does to the detective.

  “Mrs. Hopper,” I try not to sound too grudging, and my voice comes off a little pitchy, while I’m snooping my head toward the open crack to the door trying to take a glance. And I’m so focused doing so, I didn’t feel someone creeping up from behind me, and next thing I know, I have a terrible cluster headache from what looks like an attack with a pole; my vision blurs away, and I’m falling. Down until there’s nothing.

  • • •

  When I open my eyes again, I squint forward, trying to brush the blurredness away. My hands are tied against a chair, and there’s light. A room. Mundane and organized.

  I hear something. But my head is hurting. I hear it again.

  Someone is calling out my name. They’re standing next to me.

  I use all my willpower to move my head in the other direction and take a look. I scowl and I’m dizzy. “Kegan?” I ask, and I don’t know whether I’m really conscious anymore. Maybe this is a dream. Is this all happening for real? My headache tells me that I might just be hallucinating.

  “Ainsley,” he repeats. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for a long time now.”

  Why has he been waiting for me? Why is he standing next to me? Why are my hands tied? Why don’t I remember anything?

  Oh, the more questions I start asking myself, the dizzier I feel.

  I try to open my eyes, while my head is swinging drudgingly in his direction. When my eyelids open to the point where it feels like I’m not squinting anymore, I try to make out.

  “Kegan, why are you tied up?” I mumble, while he’s standing in his chair unmovably. “What is going on?”

  He doesn’t respond. And a voice breaks through the silence. I recognize it.

  And in spur of moment everything comes back to me. The party. The cupcake shop. The murder. Braiden. Kegan. Reese. Heather. The necklace.

  Mrs. Hopper.

  The attack.

  The pole.

  “I see the cat’s out of the bag now,” Mrs. Hopper waddles toward us, and she’s so delighted for some reason, it’s creeping me out.

  “It’s been you all the time,” I say eccentrically. “And I never figured it out. How silly am I?”

  “You’re not silly, darling. You’re just too nice. And besides, who would think that an old lady could be the creator of all this mystery?”

  “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “Maybe I am. But, aren’t we all?” she smiles, as if she’s taking pride in her craziness.

  “How could you do this to Mrs. Gleason? He was your friend.”

  “Now I didn’t like what happened to him either. But he had it coming. He was going to uncover my secret. What was I supposed to do then?”

  “I cannot believe that you fooled everyone. You came into my shop each day trying to pin the blame on everybody else but you. You are nuts, in any way possible.”

  “I couldn’t risk revealing my secret. Mrs. Gleason found out somehow, in one of his visits to my house. He found my collection. And yes, he was my friend. But I couldn’t risk revealing my secret even to someone I care about. You know, at your party, he told me that I was sick, that I needed help. That I should turn all those things I’ve borrowed back to their respective patrons.”

  “You didn’t borrow them. You ransacked them.”

  “Now, that’s such an obnoxious
term. Anyhow, I insisted that I wouldn’t uncover myself for what I did. And it was none of his business. But he wouldn’t have it. He told me that if I didn’t come out, he was going to tell everyone that I’d stolen that necklace, together with all the other things that I’ve added to my collection.”

  “You killed my uncle, you monster,” Kegan shouts, enraged and tries to free himself from the ties.

  “Now don’t take it to heart. Somebody should’ve given him the lesson. Don’t jam into other people’s business when you’re not invited. So when he told me he was going to disclose my secret to the world, I was enraged. I couldn’t bring my mind to tranquility. And I chased him when he went to the bathroom. Having grabbed one of your kitchen knives before, I sneaked up on him, and stabbed him on the back. I sprinkled the place with cinnamon cologne that I ransacked from one of the townspeople at the party. You see, I cannot stop myself. Everywhere I go, I have to borrow something. But that was no use anyway. The police didn’t even notice the fragrance.” She looks away, very disappointed that her trick didn’t work out. “But anyway. I used a tissue to hollow out my prints from the knife, and I came back to the party. Who would’ve ever suspected an old lady could be capable of such gruesome thing such as murder.” She looks so satisfied with herself.

  “And you lied to me at the church,” I remember when I started to think of Braiden as a suspect and put him into all the mess that he had to go through. “About the cinnamon. And I believed you.” My eyes are perplexed, and I cannot believe all this is true.

  “And yet here you are, having solved this mystery by yourself. So Ainsley, tell me, what gave me away?” she leans closer to the chair, eyes all curious.

  “It was the necklace. Heather just can’t stop herself. She has to go through every tabloid possible, and one day she showed me this necklace that was stolen in Lazulville. Last time you were in my shop, you were wearing the same exact necklace. But it wasn’t until today that it struck a chord in me. And, also, when I came to your house that day, that’s why you didn’t let me in. Because you were keeping Kegan in here.”