A DEADLY DANISH

by Fiona Grace

  Seth and Ali sat at the table together. Seth’s brown eyes twinkled with care, making Ali squirm in her seat.

  “How are you?” Ali asked him, before he had the chance to ask her. Better to nip this in the bud.

  “I’m fine. You?”

  She waved a hand. “I’m not the one who performed CPR. Are you sure you’re okay? That’s scary by anyone’s standards.”

  Seth’s lip twitched up into a half smirk. “But not by my standards?” he teased.

  Ali blushed, realizing what she’d inadvertently implied; that most people couldn’t handle such a scenario, but that Seth was braver than most people…She’d complimented him, feeding his ego, without even trying.

  “I wanted to ask you about Marco and Emilio,” she blurted quickly, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.

  “Shoot. What about them?”

  “Did you see them last night? During the time Marvin was murdered?”

  Seth nodded. “Yeah, they were out the front with the rest of us.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Yes. Definitely. Why?”

  She didn’t answer his question. “Which one’s had a haircut?”

  Seth looked perplexed. “Emilio… Ali, what is this about?”

  Ali slumped. So she was wrong? Seth had seen both twins, at the same time, in the same place, at the exact timeframe Marvin was being strangled in his car. Her one lead had gone. She was back at square one.

  “Oh,” she said, sighing out her disappointment. “It’s no reason. I thought I had a theory. But I was wrong.”

  “You thought one of the Italians killed him? Why?”

  “Because Marco’s in doubly worse trouble than all of us. And Emilio was acting so calm. I just thought maybe they hatched a plan or something to save Marco’s pizzeria. A sort of doppelganger mis-identification thing.”

  Seth’s bushy brows rose as if such a thought was laughable. “Those two? Working together? To help each other?”

  “I know, I know, I’m an idiot,” Ali said. “Delaney and Piper were right. The only person either of them would ever kill is the other.”

  “I mean, I shouldn’t really have to point this out, Ali, but the fact your neighbors aren't murderers should be a good thing. You look like someone's just stolen your candy.”

  Ali raised her eyes to meet his. “You’re right. I just don’t have any leads.”

  “You really shouldn’t be investigating this yourself,” Seth said. “Leave it to the cops.”

  “I can’t,” Ali exclaimed. “My mom’s in town and she thinks I live in some dangerous place with a killer on the loose and an incompetent police force. If I can solve it, then I can prove I’m capable.”

  “You want to put yourself in danger, to prove to your mom you’re not in danger?”

  “Well, when you say it like that, sure, it sounds crazy! But that’s not the only reason, Seth. It’s my dad, too.” She shuddered as she recalled her terrible nightmare, and the blank, unfeeling stare of her father in it. “What if he hears the rumors about me and believes they’re true? Why would he want a daughter like me?”

  It felt good to offload. And Seth was always a very supportive ear to offload to. He seemed to instantly understand that attempting to talk Ali out of investigating herself was not the way to go, and the best thing to do was help her, no matter how outlandish he may believe she was being.

  “You know,” he said. “There was one thing that got my attention. Do you know Neil, who works on the pier?”

  Ali shook her head. She didn’t venture much that way, usually in an attempt to avoid Lavinia and Django the light-fingered monkey. “No? Who is he?”

  “He has a cart there,” Seth explained. “He sells cotton candy and rock. Fairground sweets. He’s always complaining about how much money he has to pay in tax, and how it’s not fair considering he doesn’t actually have a storefront.”

  “Was he at the meeting?” Ali asked.

  “I don’t know,” Seth said. “I don’t recall seeing him there. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t. You saw how busy it was.”

  “Detective Callihan said all the vendors had alibis.”

  Seth shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I just thought it was worth looking into, considering he tells people how much he hopes Marvin Chessley would die…”

  Ai’s eyes snapped open with astonishment. “He what?” she cried. This was big. This was huge! This was the lead she’d been hoping for.

  Seth nodded. “He tells everyone. It's his favorite topic of conversation. ‘Hello, how are you, lovely weather, I wish that Marvin Chessley would just die, it’d solve all of our problems.’”

  Ali didn’t need to hear anymore of Seth’s impression. She was up out of her seat, excitement crackling through her whole body’ Seth had just given her the lead she’d been desperate for.

  “Ali!” Seth said, looking surprised by how quickly she’d switched. “You’re not going to—”

  “Question him? Of course I am,” Ali said, filled with determination.

  Seth seemed to be back-tracking now, like he’d realized that in trying to cheer her up he’d actually landed someone else in hot water. “But he’s quite old. Did I say that? Frail. I’m sure he couldn’t actually strangle someone.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Ali said, and with that she hurried to the exit of Best Hot Dogs, eager to pursue her first proper lead.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Scruff was waiting outside for her when she emerged into the bright daylight. He let out a disapproving yip—presumably to chastise her for the length of time she’d spent inside—then promptly followed alongside her as she headed for the pier.

  When they reached the entry to the pier, he instantly became distracted by several half-eaten donuts that had been dropped on the ground, and went off like a hog hunting truffles, hoovering them up like a trail of breadcrumbs. Ali, meanwhile, bowed her head and quickstepped past the dark green gypsy caravan belonging to Lavinia Leigh. The last thing she wanted right now was to get accosted by the fortune teller and her monkey.

  Luckily, the door was firmly shut, which meant Lavinia was in the middle of a reading. If Ali was fast enough, perhaps she could get in and back out again before she even noticed.

  She hurried along the wooden boards of the pier, scanning left and right as she went. Most of the pier was devoted to arcade style games and fairground rides, and it took her a while to actually find the food carts.

  She was surprised when she did. She’d presumed from Seth’s description that the carts would be more like Cillian’s kiosk, a sort of semi-permanent structure, or at the very least like Lavinia’s caravan that had a plinth it was attached to. But instead, they really were carts—hand drawn, wooden carts with big wheels and handles, like oversized wheelbarrows. They were all lined up, selling all kinds of cheap, touristy, fairground items. There was a jewelry cart selling the kind of “mood rings” that had been popular when Ali was a teen, and a cart selling whistles on neon colored strings alongside bright, curly shoelaces. Then Ali spotted the cotton candy cart. Big bags of pastel colored pink, blue, and white candy floss hung from the top beam of the serving hatch, obscuring the man inside from this angle. She approached, craning her head to see around.

  As she reached the front, where sticks of stripy rock were lined out side by side, she finally set eyes on the vendor and gasped. Not only was the wrinkly, hunched old man quite obviously far too frail to strangle someone, but she recognized him from the town meeting. He was the man with the sprouting ear hair who’d asked her if she’d poisoned the Danish! The man who’d insulted her in her moment of despair!

  Ali almost backtracked, not wanting to speak to him anymore, but it was too late. He’d spotted her.

  “Don’t be shy,” he said, grinning a wrinkly-mouthed grin. “Roll up, roll up.”

  With trepidation in her step, Ali advanced, her mind now turning over at speed. All the questions she was planning on asking before flew right out of
her mind, because now she knew without question that he’d been there the night of the murder. And though his words and actions were highly suspicious there was no way he was the killer. He was far too frail. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have something to do with the death of Marvin Chessley, and that was what she now needed to find out.

  “Remember me?” she asked, as she reached the hatch.

  “The lady with the poisoned Danish,” he joked. “Of course I do.”

  Ali flashed him a disapproving expression. “That’s not a nice thing to joke about.”

  He cackled. “I have a dark sense of humor. It happens when you get as old as me. Life grinds you down. You learn to laugh about it.”

  “Is that why you were making jokes about killing Marvin Chessley?” She’d not meant to jump to the chase so quickly, but the man gave off a horrible vibe and she didn’t want to spend any more time in his company than strictly necessary.

  “No. I joked about killing Marvin Chessley because the man was an ass. You think you were going to be hard done by having a tax on your bricks and mortar store? Think about how I feel? This thing barely even keeps me dry on a wet day, and I still have to pay for it. I lug it home with me at the end of the day and lug it back and pay for the privilege!” He sucked his teeth and shook his head. “That’s why I’m glad he’s dead.”

  “You shouldn't say that,” Ali said, quickly. Speaking ill of the dead was terrible.

  “I’ll say what I want,” the man replied gruffly. “When you get as old as me, you’ll be surprised by the things that come out of your mouth!” He cackled, his laugh a deep, chesty wheeze.

  “Well, you must be thrilled then,” Ali said, folding her arms with distaste. “You got what you wanted.”

  “I’m over the moon,” he replied without so much as a flicker of remorse in his watery brown eyes.

  Ali wanted this conversation over and done with as quickly as possible. She knew the horrible old cotton candy seller wasn’t physically capable of being a murderer, but psychologically speaking he clearly had it in him to organize one… But how? He was quite clearly very poor. If he couldn’t afford his taxes, he definitely couldn’t afford a killer-for-hire. And she highly doubted he had any friends or allies who’d do the deed as a favor, considering how rude and outspoken he was.

  “Aren’t you worried the cops will hone in on you if you keep speaking like that?” Ali asked.

  He snickered. “I’m not the only one. If they’re going to suspect everyone who’s said they’re glad Marvin’s dead, then they’ve got their work cut out.”

  Ali highly doubted anyone was as crass as the cotton candy vendor. “Really? Name one person.”

  “Miriyam,” he said, without missing a beat.

  Ali halted, as if struck by the sound of her name. “Miriyam said she was glad?” she questioned, not quite believing it, but not completely refuting it either.

  “We were talking outside the town hall about how our only hope now was for someone to kill him, when we heard you scream. I said, ‘Did we just tempt fate?’ and she grinned and said, ‘Let’s hope so.’ Then we went round the back to see.” He clapped his hands, as if the outcome had pleased him. “And there you go. Someone had answered our wishes.”

  Ali grimaced. This conversation was far too dark for her sensibilities. It was time to end it. The important thing was that the horrible old man had given her a very significant lead. Miriyam. Because unlike him, she did have the money to pay someone off. But whether she had it in her heart to do so was another matter altogether.

  Suddenly, Ali was hit by a memory. When she’d been in Protein Palace speaking to Devon, he’d revealed Miriyam had tried to hire him to intimidate someone. What if Miriyam had hired someone, but they were only meant to scare him into backing out of the proposal. What if it had all gone horribly wrong?

  Ali knew exactly where she needed to go next.

  *

  Ali was in luck. She made it back out of the pier before Lavinia opened the doors to her gypsy caravan again. She felt bad for the poor schmuck trapped inside with her but ploughed on with her task.

  As she turned back onto the boardwalk, she heard a bark, and looked over to see Scruff come running for her. He had sugar coating the fur around his mouth from all the donuts he’d snaffled up, and despite the gravity of the task at hand, Ali couldn’t help but smile. A little bit of light relief was appreciated.

  “You look a state,” she told him with a tut. “And donuts are really not acceptable food for a dog. You’ll regret that later, mark my words.”

  Miriyam’s bakery Kookies was right at the other end of the boardwalk, and Ali marched quickly under the hot sun to get there, Scruff trotting along the whole way with his self-important expression.

  When she drew up outside Kookies, she peered through the window at Miriyam going about her business inside. The tall, skinny, tan-skinned woman looked like she didn’t have a care in the world, and Ali couldn’t help but clench her teeth with frustration.

  Scruff barked. It was another one of his disapproving, gruff barks. Like Seth, Miriyam didn’t let him inside, only she tended to be a bit more aggressive in her attempts to keep the little dog away. On more than one occasion poor Scruff had been thwacked with Miriyam’s broom, and so his disapproval of Ali for going here was even more pronounced.

  “You and me both, L’'l Dude,” Ali told him. “I’d prefer to be anywhere else but here.” She grimaced at the thought of what lay ahead. “Wish me luck.” Then she pushed on the door and entered.

  Miriyam looked up at the sound of the bell. Registering that it was Ali coming toward her, a thin, mean smile appeared on her lips. She abandoned her cookie arranging task and straightened up.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Take a guess,” Ali replied.

  Miriyam chuckled. “Well, I don’t think you’re here for a cookie,” she replied, raising one of her razor-thin brows. “So I suppose you’re investigating Marvin’s murder?”

  “Bingo,” Ali said.

  Miriyam laughed musically. “Shall we cut to the chase. Do you think I killed him, Ali?”

  “You tell me,” Ali replied.

  Miriyam rolled her eyes. “I was there. I have an alibi. Several dozen, actually, like all the other vendors. All the other vendors except you, of course.”

  She smiled evilly. Ali narrowed her eyes.

  “You could’ve hired someone.”

  Miriyam tapped her chin as if this was a very interesting idea. “Hmm. Yes. I suppose I could. But if I’d gone to such lengths to pay money to someone, with all the risks involved of them turning me in or being an undercover cop, why oh why would I risk undoing all that hard work by… calling the ambulance?”

  Ali halted. She was right. In all the excitement of pursuing leads, Ali had forgotten a very crucial thing. Miriyam was the one who’d leapt into action and called the ambulance.

  “Because you knew he couldn't be saved?” she suggested, meekly, hearing with her own ears just how inadequate it sounded.

  “Nonsense,” Miriyam barked. “How could I possibly have predicted something like that? Surely it would make more sense for me to delay help arriving as long as possible, if I actually wanted the man to die? Wouldn't I have tried to interfere with Seth’s valiant efforts to resuscitate him?” She shook her head. “Look, Ali. I get that you and I don’t often see eye to eye. But I am not evil. And I thought you did a good job in the town hall debate. You were very persuasive. I said as much at the time. I think you said enough to convince the others not to vote on the bill. In which case, Marvin Chessley being dead or alive makes very little difference to me.”

  It was a shockingly honest reply, and Ali took a moment for it to fully sink in. She herself was often offended when people accused her of things she wouldn’t even dream of doing. Miriyam on the other hand seemed to be taking it all in her stride. Ali didn't quite know what to make of that, but one thing she felt sure of was that Miriyam was no killer. />
  “Fine,” she said, sighing, and with a satisfied smirk, Miriyam went back to arranging her cookies. “But can I ask you a question?”

  Miriyam looked up. “Who do I think is the killer?”

  Ali nodded. “Yeah.”

  Miriyam shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. It’s not one of us vendors, that’s for sure.”

  Ali gasped with sudden dawning. “You’re right!”

  She’d been going about this all the wrong way, assuming the motive for Marvin’s murder was to stop the bill. But there might be an entirely different reason why someone would want Marvin Chessley dead, like the man he’d beaten to the position of councilman in the first place, just three days earlier.

  “Say that again,” Miriyam said, “only this time let me record it.”

  But Ali was no longer listening to her. She’d got what she needed when she came here—a lead—and now she needed to test it out.

  She raced out of Kookies and glanced around for Scruff. He was nowhere to be seen. The little guy had followed her dutifully all day as she’d chased dead-end leads, and now when she’d finally got something promising to pursue, he’d given up. Ali assumed he’d likely slunk off with a belly ache from all the donuts and would pop back up later once he was feeling better.

  She headed in the direction of town hall, alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  When Ali reached the town hall, she discovered it was locked, a heavy chain across the door. Several bouquets of flowers had been laid down and a sign affixed to the door explained that out of respect for the sudden death of Councilman Chessley, the building would be closed for the rest of the day.

  “Dammit,” Ali said, leaning her back against the big wooden doors. How would she find the information she was looking for now?

  Everything felt eerily quiet, so far from the chaotic scenes of yesterday. No shouting or arguing. No people. Just bouquets of flowers, their colorful petals fluttering in the breeze.

  Ali’s thought turned to the parking lot out back. Were the cops still back there, combing the crime scene for clues? Or had they already left? It was so quiet; she couldn’t imagine there being anyone else around.