“Oh, I know Jaylon,” she shrugs in her sweet, pretty way, blinking a couple of times, and putting her head sideway, her voice so sweet, and she’s just perfection. “He lives a block away from my house, and I’ve seen him meeting a therapist once, when I had to hand some books at the school consultant at her office outside the school. Maybe he is crazy after all.” She takes another moderate bite from her cupcake.
I look at the street through the glass walls, and frown. How can we prove that Jaylon killed Mr. Mahoney? All the facts point at him. So all that we need is a motive. Which I don’t have at the moment. I guess I could be asking his wife, though from my last visit at her house, I was under the impression that she wouldn’t be very collaborative in the future.
Nearby me, Kierra lets out sounds of delight, and even though they’re not directed at me, I feel a little happy because I know that it’s my cupcakes that are making her so joyous as always and that’s great motive to make me gratified.
Chapter Nine
I did a little research about Mr. Mahoney last night and I’m standing in front of his hotel now in hopes that I’d be able to find a connection between him and the killer. I just need to see past the motive that spurred the killer do what they did.
For some reason my legs are stuck and I cannot get myself to move. I’m standing, frozen into place, imagining ghosts maundering up and down the stairs to the hotel front door.
Oh, I’m just getting caught up at the frightening spirit of the season, but after all, it is just my perception so I need to get myself to move.
Once I do so, I amble toward the hotel’s front door, and when I’m inside, I find myself in front of the reception area, where a girl behind the counter looks at me enquiringly.
“Um, hello, can I help you?” she looks at me inquisitively.
“Oh, um, yes…” I mumble, suddenly forgetting all the reasons behind my being here.
“Are you looking for a room reservation?” she asks, mildly.
“Oh, no.” I shake my head, feeling like needing to clear the air. “I just have some questions.”
“Oh,” she suddenly fumbles. “Are you a journalist?” she frowns a little. I guess she must be kind of used to those coming around asking about the murder.
“Um, kind of,” I lie, partly. Well, partly because my friend is a journalist. Well, it doesn’t make me a journalist too. Though I can kind of help her with an investigating article.
Okay, who am I kidding? I’m here because of my bursting curiosity and need of finding that murderer.
“Can I ask you a few questions? If that’s okay with you?” Seeing how nice she was with me, I don’t want to scare her off or anything.
“Uh,” she looks around, confused. “I’m asked not to respond to anyone coming here about the mystery. Though if you won’t take much of my time, then I’d do my best to give my help.
“Oh, I won’t do that, I mean, taking a lot of time. Could you tell me who owns the hotel right now?”
“It’s Mr. Mahoney,” she says, unaffectedly.
“Mr. Mahoney?” I frown, horrified, as if I just saw a ghost right here and now.
“Oh,” she similes just a smidge for clarification. “Colten’s brother. Rogelio. They co-owned the hotel before. He’s the only owner now.”
Interesting! I wasn’t aware of such facts. They might be of interest to my investigation.
“What about Mr. Mahoney’s wife?” I frown, recalling that she was the only family he had, besides his brother.
“As far as I know, she wants to be a part of this, though for now, Mr. Mahoney’s brother is the only person who has control around here.”
“Can I meet him somewhere?” I want to know who the brother is. Of course, a brother’s perspective might help me a lot with my investigation and might lead us towards the murderer and their motives.
“He’s around the vicinity a lot, though I can’t tell for sure where he is and when. He’s in every corner, trying to make sure everything goes fine around the business.” She explains. And I empathize. That’s what happens when you run a business. I ought to know.
For the next couple of minutes, I’m weighing in my options and I come to decide that it’s probably my cue to go. I don’t think that the nice girl behind the reception counter would be able to help me with more information. But as I’m about to turn around, with a thankful smile on my face, I hear the girl greeting the man entering the hotel. And the name hits me.
“Mr. Mahoney?” I repeat after the girl, and the man turns around and faces me with a frown of non-recognition. “We don’t know each other,” I proceed, feeling like I have to explain to him my sudden interruption. “But I feel like we must make time to exchange information that we both might find interesting.”
“Yeah?” he tilts his head sideways with glinting eyes. “And you are?”
“I’m Ainsley, the girl who found the body of your brother at the pumpkin shop.”
His entire complexion changes altogether in spur of moment. I guess he didn’t expect that. He seemed amicable and approachable before, but now, with the truth disentangling, not so much.
“Can I have a word with you?” I ask him, hoping that he would be accepting.
“I’m running a business. I don’t have time. People are counting on me.”
“I understand. I run a business too,” I try to come off to him as pertinent as I can. “But I think what we might have to tell each other might interest both ends.”
“I don’t think that I have anything interesting to hear from you.” He says frigidly.
“But don’t you want to know how I found him? Details about the way he was encrusted underneath a bunch of pumpkins?” To be honest, his disinterest startles me. As his brother he’d want to know more and more about the scene. And what better person to inquire this information from than me?
“I know as much as I should. The police are keeping me updated with everything.”
“There are things about the murder the police can’t tell you that I can.” If this doesn’t impact him just a smidge, than I don’t know what would.
“Hmm? Like what?” Oh, glory. It seems like he might give me a few seconds at best.
“I think I know who would’ve done this. I have strong motive to believe this person might be involved to the mystery.”
“Girl, I don’t have time to spend with townspeople’s hunches. People are going to create lots and lots of scenario about how it could’ve happened. If I listened to each of them, than I wouldn’t have a business running in the first place.”
“You don’t understand. This person built the compilation underneath of which laid the body of your brother. And his behavior doesn’t say much about him not being implicated.”
“If you have a story to tell, then you should better get going and pay a brief visit to the precinct where the detective will be so happy, and interested to hear you. I don’t think I have enough time to spend with your stories made of hunches.”
“But he was your brother. Is the hotel really more important than him to you?” I hope this strikes a chord in him about brotherhood.
He turns around slowly and looks at me soundlessly for a moment. “How can I know you are to be trusted? For all I know, you might be connected to the murder.”
“Your suspicion is apprehensible. But I can tell you things that the police can’t. I was there and saw enough to make me cast doubt on certain things.”
He approaches, and together we walk silently out of the hotel, finding ourselves into the main stairs. He looks at me and I know I have his full attention now.
“So, tell me more about the scene. How did you come to find him?” he breaks the silence and I can grasp some kind of interest by his part now.
“I was just browsing for autumn pumpkins, and never would I have thought that a man would be encrusted underneath merchantable vines. As far as I know, this guy Jaylon, whose mental health is questionable, had arranged the compilation prior.”
�
��That’s all?” he seems a little disappointed by the information that he was able to get out of me, squinting discontentedly.
“I did a little research and came upon the crew guy by accident, and tried to get some answers from him. But not only was he not collaborative, he also made it look as if I was attacking him or something. It is clear that he’s not rendering into clarity at the moment. But I have very strong suspicions that he might be involved into it.”
“Hmm,” he mutters, without saying anything more. Mr. Mahoney peers around soundlessly as if he’s pondering about something that I’m not able to comprehend.
I don’t know what to say next. His behavior in regards to me has been really quaint to say the least. First, he didn’t want to hear anything I had to say, and now he’s here not letting out a single thought that would make me make out his fiber.
“Would you say your brother was holding a grudge against anyone?”
“Not, as far as I’m concerned. Sure, there have been conflicts here and there, but nothing quite unremarkable. There are plenty of linkages that I’d suspect, but I don’t like discussing that with you.” Once again I blanch at his behavior. Sure, this one doesn’t forbear to speak up his mind as it is.
“What about his wife? Doesn’t she wish to participate into the business activity?” I know that I’m asking personal questions that I probably won’t be able to get an answer for, minding that the man is a hard one to crack when it comes to mundane things, let alone explicit ones.
“This business belongs to me and my brother. We built it from scratch,” I think that he just raised a stink. There’s just something about this topic that made him particularly miffed. “She doesn’t have a say in this.”
“But Mrs. Mahoney was his wife. I’m sure there will be next procedures that will make her implicated into the business whether you like it or not. Unless your brother has decided beforehand against it.”
“I don’t like to talk about it,” he says shorty, and then looks away soundlessly.
“Could you tell me—I might’ve asked his wife, but I felt like I’d be barging in—why didn’t your brother have any children?” I realize that the way that I put it might sound a little silly. What I meant is, “whose choice was it?”
“His wife couldn’t conceive. God, my brother loved children. I don’t understand why he didn’t get a divorce and marry a woman who could give him children.”
Now I am certain, this man is beyond cruel.
How could he talk like this about his sister in law?
“You know, I should probably get back to work. You can’t miss a second when you’re running a hotel, you know? Hmm,” he frowns to himself, pondering. “I don’t think you’ve got a way how.”
Like that, he turns his back to me, waddling inside the hotel, and I’m more perplexed than ever. Did I do good coming here? Was it a well-thought thing?
Well, at least, now I know that everyone around the guy whose body I found at the pumpkin shop is acting weird. Maybe that’s what happens when something this terrible happens. But, it’s just making it hard for the mystery to come into a close.
• • •
“Oh, my God! What happened?” I gather my hands to my mouth, shocked, peering around my yard at the disaster around me.
Coming home, I had the nicest feeling this evening, knowing that I’d be gawking at my autumn decorations and ornaments, but this is not what I had in mind.
I’m all kinds of confused right now.
Gideon is standing there, as shocked as I am, looking at me more than at the yard. He’s holding my gaze, and then with an athletic move, he manages to jump across the fence that parts both our yards, and he brings himself into my territory.
“Gideon, who did this?” I feel like I’m nearly crying as if the most terrible thing happened to me. But after all, this is terrible in all the ways possible.
Why would somebody want to attack me yard. Is this addressed to me? Did they want to deliver a message? I’m just running through the list of people that I might’ve upset lately, but nothing relevant crosses my mind. I’m actually a very careful person, and I don’t like to make anyone angry, but somehow I had to. Unless this is just the bash of a sociopath who takes delight in smashing the entire collection of people’s autumn ornaments.
All my pumpkins are splattered everywhere, and it looks like someone has been taking out their anger onto my autumn decorations, by hitting each adornment with a mallet.
A mallet?
Why does this image strike a chord?
Is Jaylon the one after this? Sure, he seemed pretty upset that I’d targeted him with my questions. And he looked crazy enough to do this. And, plus, he has a mallet, many of them actually, that he bought at Mr. Tennant’s haberdashery store.
“Did you saw them?” I ask, Gideon, who now I realize, has imperceptibly approached me, and he’s wrapping me into his arms, while I’m blasting into anger. I find my hands upon his chest and it feels warm, strong and firm. And did I mention, warm?
“I came home a moment prior to you to find that your embellished yard had turned into an onrushing disaster. So sad to know that all your hard work has turned into nothing more than a mess.” His voice sounds rough and mild at the same time above my head. “Why would somebody do this?”
“Obviously, I might’ve upset someone,” I get out from his embrace and peer again around my yard.
“If that’s the case, you might be in danger. How would you feel about filing a report?”
“Oh, that would just provide me with more deadening and unrecoverable time that I don’t feel like losing at the moment.”
“But you have to,” he looks at me, cringing at my retort. “You can’t let whoever did this go without getting what they deserve.”
Coral approaches on my feet, purring against my legs to console me. I look around at what once was an award-winning, autumn, adorned yard, that now is just a disaster. How will I be able to fix all this?
All of a sudden, I’m filled with some kind of rage that I cannot explain. I want to know who did this and punish them. But I just feel so exhausted to do all that. Instead, I turn around and cover my face into the shoulder of my neighbor that invited me broadly and warmly, while I rest my head on it, holding my face with my hands. In the next few seconds, I find a hand sliding on my waist as a way to comfort me.
Chapter Ten
I wake up to music at a place that isn’t my home, and I’m needed just a few minutes to concentrate and recall everything that happened last night.
Gideon insisted that I might be in trouble with a latent attacker on the loose, so it all went down to me needing protection. I was represented with just two options. I’d either go with having him crash at my house for the night, or I’d be sleeping at his house. I don’t recall how the second option came to be, but I must’ve been so tired and perplexed by all this, having realized that I was defenseless to his persistence.
Gideon also took it upon himself to take care of reporting the infringement down at the precinct. And here I am this morning, finding myself on some master bed that I don’t recognize.
I am alone, of course, but I can smell even from here the nice scent of the just cooked breakfast. I cannot resist the impulse to go down and indulge myself in whatever he has cooked for me.
Smiling at the idea, I hear knockings at the door. I tell him to come in, and he shows up with a smile on his face, and a tray in his hands.
Approaching, he places the tray in top of my lap and I marvel at it.
“Oh, my God. You made that for me?” I realize that imperceptibly I howled just a smidge from the excitement. Having never had some guy cook breakfast for me before, I cannot help but express my astonishment.
“How did you sleep? Was the bed enough comfortable for you?” he smiles at me, totally, gracefully ignoring my previous question.
“Not sure, but I think it must’ve been perfect. Slept so quietly all night long, never realized that I wasn’t at home.”
“Glad to hear,” he connotes.
“What about you? Where did you sleep?” I frown, just coming to realize that this is probably his room, while noticing the manly touches at every corner. It is a nice room, though you can tell for sure that it belongs to a guy.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he smiles, a little derisively, a little playfully. It’s adorable. “I took the couch downstairs. Still haven’t been able to finish up the remodeling of all the rooms.”
“Oh,” I shrug and gawk at the tray above my lap. There’s a glass of orange juice, a plate full of grains, and all the kinds of berries possible. A ginger biscuit. A piece of chocolate and milk.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked so I chose all the things that I could.” He explains, and I’m a little miffed that he feels like he has to explain. It’s adorable he thought about doing this in the first place, so he doesn’t have to feel discomfited or anything.
“That’s so nice of you.” I gawk at him with a smile.
I’m not sure whether he’s blushing just a little, but he bends his head down for sure, scratching under his neck.
When did the situation go uncomfortable all of a sudden?
“How are you feeling today?” he asks, and I look at his hand clenching my leg above the blanket. It must’ve been an imperceptible move, because as soon as I put emphasis on it with my gawking, he draws his hand back into his lap and looks uncomfortable.
“I don’t know how to feel. Everything was so strange and unexpected. Did you file the report?”
“I did. The detective thought it probably isn’t serious. These kind of things happen a lot about this time of the year. But I don’t take it. I think it was forethought.”
Pumpkins And Trickery Page 6