A DEADLY DANISH

by Fiona Grace

  “Oh, Teddy, I’d better warn you—” Ali began, as her brother fished around in his bag for the script.

  But Teddy did not hear her. “Actually, what would be really great from you,” he was saying, “is if you help me run through my lines.” He produced a thick stack of papers and handed them across the table to her. “Can you read the part of Street Walker One?”

  Ali took the script from him. “Of course, but Teddy, I need to tell you that—”

  But before she had a chance to finish her sentence, the door tinkled open and in swished…Georgia Sweet.

  Their mother was wearing a dark blue and white striped T, beige shorts and navy-blue boating shoes. The ensemble was finished off with a red bandana tied around her gray-blonde hair. She was wearing the heck out of nautical chic, and Ali couldn’t help but admire her mother’s ability to always look put-together and flawlessly glamorous, when Ali, despite her best efforts, always looked like she’d just crawled out of a hedge full of cake.

  Teddy’s eyes pinged wide open. He did a double take—from sister to mother and back again.

  “—Mom’s here,” Ali said, finishing her sentence with an apologetic inflection.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Mom, you’re early,” Ali said, glancing at the clock briefly, before her gaze returned nervously back to Teddy. “I didn’t even get a chance to tell Teddy you’d moved your visit forward a few days.”

  Her brother was staring aghast at their mother standing in the doorway. It wasn’t often Ali saw him lost for words, but he was now. She braced herself for the fireworks that were surely about to fly.

  “Well look at this!” Georgia cried, completely ignoring her comment. “My two youngest! What a wonderful treat!”

  She waltzed into the bakery like she owned the place, floating elegantly across the peppermint green and white checkerboard tiles toward them. She air-kissed both of Teddy’s cheeks.

  “Mom?” he stammered. “I thought you were visiting on the weekend...”

  “Oh I just moved my visit earlier by a few days,” she replied with an air of flippancy.

  “And Ali’s fine with that?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Georgia replied, oblivious, as always, to the inconvenience she’d caused. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “Because she has a business and a schedule and, I don’t know, plans and things.”

  Georgia flapped his comment away with her hand. “Why are you here?” she asked, turning the heat right back on to him.

  Teddy’s gaze fell to the thick script sitting on the table between them. He quickly and covertly slid it off the table and into his open bag. “Just popping in to say hi.”

  “Popping in? To Willow Bay?” Georgia challenged. “Isn’t it a little out of your way? You must have more of a reason than that, surely?”

  Ali heard the sound of Teddy’s bag’s zipper being firmly done up out of sight under the table, as her poor brother squirmed in his seat. He hated telling their mother about his acting jobs. Just as with Ali and her bakery, Georgia Sweet wasn’t the slightest bit supportive of her son’s thespian aspirations. She’d always wanted him to pursue a more sensible career—a doctor or a dentist or anything else that required hours upon hours of study and grueling exams, despite her son’s complete lack of acumen for studying (or even sitting) for long periods of time.

  “It’s worth going out of your way for the best pastries on the West Coast,” Teddy replied, snatching up a Danish from the plate of untouched ones in front of them. “Especially when it’s launch day for a new product!”

  Ali smirked. Not only had he covered for his presence marvelously, he’d also managed to show-off just how on the pulse he was when it came to all things Seaside Sweets, masterfully highlighting their mother’s own lack of interest in the process! Of course, Georgia wouldn’t notice, but Ali certainly did, and she thoroughly enjoyed it.

  “Teddy always likes to be the first customer on launch day,” Ali continued, giving him a secret wink. “Although he did unfortunately miss first taste today, as I already had a customer. Mom, would you like me to get a Danish for you to try? It’s Milo’s recipe.”

  She stood from the table, taking a step toward the counter where the pile of fresh pastries was on display, but Georgia stopped her with a hand to her arm.

  “Please, darling, no. I’ve already told you; I’m watching my figure.” She side-eyed Teddy—or more specifically the paunch sticking over the waistband of his pants. Teddy responded in true Teddy fashion, by taking a rebelliously large bite of his Danish. Georgia crinkled her nose with displeasure. “Anyway, we agreed to get breakfast out in town,” she added, looking again at her youngest daughter. “A plan is a plan.”

  ‘Oh the hypocrisy…,’ Ali thought.

  “So?” Georgia pressed. “Where are you taking me?”

  Ali hesitated. She’d promised Marco that as soon as all her baking obligations were out of the way she’d get to work helping him. The thought of sitting around in a café languorously eating breakfast with a woman who looked like she’d stepped off the pages of Mature French Vogue really didn’t seem fair considering what he was going through.

  “Actually, Mom,” she said, clenching her hands together. “Something unexpected came up with the business, and I just can’t spare the time anymore.”

  Georgia’s expression instantly soured. “Is it the tax problem your friend on the pier was talking about? I told you to take it more seriously.”

  “It’s not that,” Ali quickly refuted. “Just…something…my neighbor needs my help with.”

  Her evasiveness wasn’t doing her any favors. Georgia’s skeptical frown was only growing deeper, and she didn’t look like she was about to let this one go. Ali, desperate to avoid her mother’s scrutiny, suddenly turned her gaze to Teddy.

  “Maybe Teddy can hang with you?” she blurted, before she even realized what she was saying.

  Georgia's eyes lit up immediately. In the perfectly opposite way, Teddy’s darkened.

  “But I have plans too, Sis,” he said, speaking through his teeth in a subtle enough way for Georgia to miss it, but for Ali to be left in no doubt as to where he stood.

  She flashed him appealing eyes. “I know you’re busy,” she said. “But I made a promise to Marco next door to help him. And it’s an emergency. And it came up suddenly out of the blue. Surely you can agree an emergency is far more important than... street walking?”

  She put an emphasis on the words to remind Teddy that the only thing he’d be doing with his day was going through his script, and while that was important, it wasn’t nearly as important as what she needed to do today.

  As all the silent communication flew between the siblings, Georgia remained entirely none the wiser, until Teddy let out a long, defeated sigh. Much like Ali, he had no power to stand up against their mother. No was simply a word neither sibling had the guts to utter when it came to their mom. They’d both learned, many years ago, probably when they were still in diapers, that when it came to her, resistance was futile. One of them was going to have to take Georgia Sweet to breakfast, and it looked like on this occasion, he’d drawn the short straw.

  “You’re right,” Teddy replied, flashing Ali his you-owe-me expression.

  “Perfect,” Georgia exclaimed. “Teddy can be my wingman today!”

  She looped her arm through his and tugged him toward the exit. As they reached the door, Teddy stared back at Ali, leaving her with no uncertainty that he’d get her back for this one day.

  All Ali could do was flash him an apologetic thumbs up, then wave him off to his doom.

  *

  With her mom out the way, Ali waited until Piper returned to take over customer duty, then got straight to work on her fundraising efforts. She decided the best person to try and rally support from would be Seth. He was a generous guy, and very community minded, and it made the most sense to Ali to try him first.

  Ali pushed open the door to Best Hot Dogs, and peered along
the seating area to the long, open kitchen where the sound of sizzling radiated. Carys was on shift today, the young employee busy frying onions, with her brown ponytail bobbing through the gap in her dark green Best Hot Dogs baseball cap as a cloud of steam wafted around her.

  Semi-grateful that Seth wasn’t on duty, Ali was about to backtrack, when she heard a voice from one of the tables.

  “Ali?”

  She started and looked down to see Seth. The gorgeous New Yorker was sitting with his calculator and papers out, clearly doing some kind of administrative work for the store. His dark brown eyes warmed as their gazes connected, and Ali was struck with the sudden, unmistakable feeling of unfinished business between them.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding shell-shocked, like she was the ghost of his long lost lover, the Catherine to his Heathcliff…

  Ali’s throat tightened as she cast her mind back to that terrible, shameful moment when Seth had discovered he was not the only man in her life—publicly, in a restaurant of onlookers, no less. He’d been quite clearly heartbroken at the time. But later, once the dust had settled a little and he’d assured her that they could be friends, Ali had wholeheartedly believed bygones were bygones. But any idiot knew that friends did not look at friends like that.

  Ali suddenly regretted her naivety in coming here, intruding back into his heartbroken life so brashly, and she floundered, momentarily forgetting the reason for her visit.

  “Well?” Seth prompted. “What’s going on?”

  “Marco!” she blurted explosively and with far too much relief that her brain had finally found the answer. “He’s being scammed. At least we think he is. Some con artist is scamming him with a lawsuit, and he can’t pay the fees, so I’m asking around to see if any vendors can donate. Could be any one of us, after all.”

  Seth looked bemused, like he’d expected something completely different to come out of her mouth—a declaration of love, perhaps?—and was now taking a moment to let the disappointment sink in. He paused, his dark eyes fixed on her, and blinked, reminding Ali in a sudden rush of chemicals just how black and thick his eyelashes were. She was left to wonder if she’d made a terrible error in judgment when she’d not chosen him over Nate, the moment that she realized that was an option. She tugged the collar of her shirt, feeling constricted and overwhelmed with thoughts and feelings that were ultimately pointless now.

  “What’s the lawsuit?” Seth asked finally, demoralized, the breathless wonder he’d spoken with before now entirely gone.

  “Cheese,” Ali said, her words clumsy, as they always were around Seth.

  “Cheese?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  For the first time since she’d walked in, Ali saw a hint of amusement in his face, and felt the awkward, unspoken weight of their “breakup” suddenly dissipate into the ether. She relaxed, the tension leaving her shoulders.

  “He had a dairy allergy,” Ali explained. “Supposedly.”

  “And ate a cheese pizza?” Seth asked.

  His right eyebrow was still raised a good inch up his forehead, and yet his incredulity managed to twitch it up even further. It was the very same incredulity Ali had felt on hearing the details of the lawsuit in the first place.

  “Exactly,” Ali said. “Hence our thinking it’s probably a con artist.”

  “No doubt,” Seth agreed, and he whistled through puckered lips. “Poor Marco. That really sucks. Of course I’ll help.”

  A spark of gratitude welled in Ali’s chest. “You will?” she asked. “That’s great!”

  “Sure,” Seth replied, already digging in the pocket of his pale blue jeans for his wallet. “How much is everyone contributing?”

  “Actually, you’re the first person I’ve asked,” Ali said.

  “The first, am I?” Seth replied, a victorious inflection in his tone that Ali had chosen him above all others to speak to first. He puffed his chest up with playful pride as he handed her a crisp note from his pocket. “I’m flattered.”

  Ali felt a blush heat up her cheeks as she took the note from him. Their fingers briefly touched, making her flinch back from the crackle of electricity.

  “Thanks for this,” she mumbled, stuffing the note haphazardly into her purse. “I’d better go and rally more troops.”

  “Let me know how it all goes,” Seth said.

  That confident little smirk from when they’d first met was back on his lips, and Ali almost tripped over her feet in her haste to get away from it, from his disarming power.

  She stumbled out into the sunshine, almost disoriented from the whole encounter, her mind spinning as her thoughts went into overdrive. Why had she chosen Seth first, out of everyone? There were plenty of other vendors and fellow comrades closer to her store, and yet she’d beelined right here to see him, specifically. She thought Seth was meant to be dropping out of the race for her affection, and yet he’d been flirting up a storm back there! It was as if they’d gone full circle, landing right back where they’d started—him this untouchable specimen of manliness turning her weak at the knees like a silly, giggly schoolgirl.

  “Get it together, Ali!” she scolded herself.

  She had a boyfriend. Sort of. Maybe? It was unclear what Nate was, or where their platonic-with-hints-of-romance relationship was really going.

  ‘Things were so much less complicated when my boyfriend was just gay,’ Ali thought, smiling wryly to herself at her own wit.

  Gazing along the boardwalk, Ali finally remembered what she was supposed to be doing. Helping Marco. And she knew just the right place to go next.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ali pushed open the doors of Protein Palace and was immediately hit by a blast of ice-cold air conditioning and the pounding sound of electronic music. Protein Palace wasn't your usual vegan bar, and Devon, its proprietor, was not the kind of guy you’d expect to find running it. The plant-based café was also a bodybuilders' bar-and-gym, and Devon was a huge, bearded, tattooed, beefy man with a scowl and the least friendly demeanor of anyone Ali had met in Willow Bay. But he was also the fiercest opponent of Sullivan Raine’s attempts to take over the boardwalk, which meant he would probably be a good ally in Marco’s pending legal woes. Just as long as she didn’t mention the cheese thing…

  Ali headed for the counter, passing fridges full of bottled plant algae smoothies and nut milks, and shelves packed with big tubs of vegan protein powders, vegan protein snack bars, and large iron weights that made her muscles ache just to look at. The walls were dotted with black and white photos of bodybuilders and thick black graffitied slogans about clean protein sources.

  Devon looked up from his desk as Ali approached. His face instantly dropped.

  ‘Wow, what a greeting,’ Ali thought. ‘What have I done to deserve that?’

  She knew she had been a bit of a nuisance in the past, but she’d had no idea the extent to which Devon disliked her. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to choose after all?

  “What do you want?” Devon asked, gruffly.

  His brows were already raised in an expression of expectation, and Ali felt the confidence the visit to Seth had given her start to wane.

  “Marco from the pizzeria,” she said. “Do you know him?”

  “One of the Italians,” Devon replied. “Sure, I know him. What about him?”

  “He’s being sued,” Ali began. “With a totally bogus suit. I’m trying to get some—”

  Devon cut her off with the shake of a head. “Look. I already told the other lady earlier that I’m not a brawn-for-hire. If you want to intimidate people, pick up some weights and build your own muscles.”

  He flexed his bicep, making it strain against the sleeve of his black T, and Ali frowned with confusion. Did he think she wanted him to intimidate Marco’s lawyer?

  “Sorry, I think you’ve misunderstood,” Ali said. “I’m not asking you to intimidate anybody. I’m just trying to get money together to help pay his legal fees and—Wait.” She paused, her mind swit
ching tracks as she fully processed what he’d just said. “What other lady?”

  “The cookie lady,” Devon said impatiently, flinging a hand toward the window. “The canvasser. She was in here earlier, looking to hire some muscle. And now you come along.” He rolled his eyes. “Seriously, you people…”

  “Cookie lady?” Ali said under her breath with confusion. As far as she knew, she was the only cookie lady in town.

  She turned to the window, craning to see the canvasser who’d made Devon so impatient. To her surprise, her eyes found Miriyam, the tall, bony rival cookie maker from the other end of the boardwalk. She appeared to be holding a small stack of neon-colored leaflets.

  “Do you mean Miriyam?” Ali asked, turning back to Devon, whose big, muscular, tattooed arms were now folded in a hostile gesture. “She came in asking for help about Marco?”

  “No, not Marco,” Devon huffed. “It was some other thing. Some man she wants scared out of town.” He waved a hand, clearly disinterested. “You’ll have to ask her. I wasn’t listening. Now can you go away?”

  Ali couldn’t help but be a little offended by his attitude toward her. She wasn’t really sure what she’d done to deserve his scorn—beyond selling baked goods full of animal derived ingredients. Perhaps that was all it took? Or maybe it was just because he associated her with Miriyam and whatever peculiar favor she’d asked him for. Either way, she made a mental note not to bother Devon again in the future. He clearly had no concern about the community.

  She turned and headed out the door, her focus now on Miriyam. What on earth was the cookie seller doing trying to hire muscle, and what exactly was she canvassing about?