by Fiona Grace
Her warning rang in Ali’s ears as she quick-stepped along the sidewalk, bowing her head as she passed the black Mercedes parked up by the curb, attempting not to be spotted by Detective Callihan, who was presumably sitting on the other side of the black-tinted window.
But her attempts to pass covertly were to no avail. She heard the door click open behind her, and Detective Callihan’s voice call out, “Ali?”
She paused and turned slowly on the spot to see the preppy detective emerging from the driver’s side of the Merc. He jogged over to her, smiling genially.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Ali was caught too off guard to make up a lie.
“I was talking to Pete,” she said, pointing to the open door where Pete and Detective Elton appeared to be engaged in a very animated discussion.
Detective Callihan looked back at her and smiled. “So you figured it out before we did? I’m impressed.”
“Figured what out?”
“Pete,” Detective Callihan said. “We were reviewing the security footage of you from the pier that night when we spotted him. Completely destroyed his alibi.” He chuckled. “He almost had us fooled with all that Raquel the dragon stuff.”
Ali’s heart began to race. The cops had solid evidence of Pete being at the crime scene? A collapsed alibi and proof he was lying about where he’d been that night? So her hunch had been right after all. Pete had killed Preston out of revenge for the tainted meat scandal, and the whole Tinkerbell poop thing was just a decoy in case she came around with her accusations.
“I guess that means I’m off the hook then?” Ali said.
“It sure does,” Detective Callihan said, rocking back on his heels with finality.
Just then, she heard a commotion. She looked up to see Detective Elton leading a very upset Pete toward the Merc behind them. The Marilyn Monroe door was now shut. From behind it came the sound of Tinkerbell’s shrill, unhappy barks.
“I’m telling you!” Pete cried as Detective Elton marched him, cuffed, toward the vehicle. “I just went to see my old storefront. I forgot to tell you, that’s all.”
“We can talk about all the other things you forgot down at the station, can’t we?” came Detective Elton’s smug reply.
Detective Callihan turned back to Ali. “Oops. Duty calls. Hey, are you still doing your cop coffee discount?”
“Uh-huh,” Ali said absentmindedly. Her entire focus was on Pete as he was guided into the back seat.
“Cool. I’ll pop in some time.”
“Okay…”
Ali wasn’t listening at all to Detective Callihan. Because something just didn’t feel right about Pete’s arrest. Something wasn’t adding up. And while she was relieved to be off the cop’s suspects list, she didn’t want it to come at the expense of an innocent man.
The Merc revved to life. Ali watched as it passed her, peering at the back seat window where Pete was sitting in cuffs, in plain view unlike the detectives up front protected by tinted glass.
She watched the car all the way down the hill, until it turned at the main road and disappeared out of sight.
Ali hurried down the hill after it. Her mind was whirring from the events that had just taken place. She no longer knew what to believe.
As she neared the bottom, she spotted Kerrigan standing on the steps that led up to his yellow door. He looked troubled.
“Ali!” he exclaimed when he spotted her. “You won’t believe it. Pete’s been arrested!”
“I just saw,” Ali said. “I was up the hill… on my lunch break.”
She figured it wasn’t sensible to tell him she’d been present when it happened.
“Did you see what happened?” Kerrigan pressed.
He looked flustered, and patted his sweaty brow with his hand.
“No, not really,” Ali said. “Sorry. But I’d better go. I don’t want to leave the lunch crowd waiting.”
The non-existent lunch crowd, she thought.
She hurried on, leaving Kerrigan behind her as she continued on down the hill.
When she made it onto the boardwalk, she headed in the direction of her bakery, desperate for the quiet sanctuary it would provide her to get her thoughts aligned.
As she drew closer, she saw the tables outside Marco’s and Emilio’s pizzerias were full to capacity. It only made the big gap in the middle where her store stood look even more pronounced.
Curiously, Ali noticed all the customers were looking in the same direction, and they were chatting animatedly to one another as if something intriguing had just taken place.
“Ali,” Marco exclaimed as she approached. “We just saw the strangest thing.”
“Pete was in the back of a police car,” Emilio interjected.
“He must’ve been arrested,” Marco continued.
“Because of Preston’s murder,” Emilio said, loudly, trying to drown out his twin even though they were essentially saying the same thing.
Ali squirmed. She couldn’t help but feel incredibly responsible for Pete’s arrest, as if she’d somehow steered the police in that direction. In a way, she had. They’d been reviewing her security footage after all when they spotted him. If they hadn’t been pursuing her in the first place, they might never have spotted him.
It didn’t help Ali’s paranoia that behind the twins, all their customers were gossiping away and whispering their rumors from table to table.
How long before everyone found out she’d been present during Pete’s arrest? How long before they put two and two together and came up with five, shoe-horning in a way to blame her for getting their beloved Pete arrested?
“It could’ve been over anything,” Ali offered, meekly.
“Like what?” Emilio asked, frowning.
“I don’t know, maybe there’s been a break in the case about his health code violation and they’re taking him to the station to chat about it.”
“The health code violation!” Marco echoed with aplomb. “That must’ve been his first attempt at murder!”
“Yes!” Emilio exclaimed, agreeing with his brother for once. His eyes were wide with intrigue. “You think you know someone…”
Well, that backfired, Ali thought.
“I’d better open up,” Ali said, rummaging in her pocket for her keys. “I’ll see you guys later.”
She unlocked the bakery and rushed inside, letting the silence of her store envelop her.
Her mind was a blur. Too much had happened too suddenly for her to wrap her head around it all. She’d gone back and forth in her head about Pete’s involvement in Preston’s murder more times than a tennis ball in a rally. She needed to untangle this mess in her mind.
She fired up the coffee machine and made a strong espresso, knocking it back like a shot. There was nothing like a dose of caffeine to get the creative juices flowing.
She recalled Delaney’s non-dominant hand calming technique, and grabbed the broom in her left hand. She began sweeping the peppermint-green floor tiles, giving her thoughts the space they needed to align.
Which was of course the exact moment her cell phone started to ring. She checked the display screen. It was her mom.
Georgia Sweet had a knack for calling at the worst possible time. It was almost as if she had a telepathic ability to sense her children were in distress, and instinctively intervened, even though her telephone calls tended to be more stress-inducing than supportive.
Ali took a seat at the window and answered the call.
“Ali, darling,” her mother began. “I think we need to talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Ali’s grip on the phone tightened. She felt every fiber in her body tense. As far as openers went, “I think we need to talk” was about as bad as they came. She braced herself for some terrible, disastrous news.
“What do we need to talk about?” Ali asked, meekly.
“It’s about this store of yours,” came her mom’s voice in her ear.
“Uh-huh…”
&n
bsp; “And when you’re planning on closing it.”
Realizing this was one of her mom’s life-intervention calls, Ali let out a long, sad sigh. On the good side, she wasn’t about to be delivered terrible news. But on the flip side, she was about to get a lecture about her bad life choices.
“Can we not have this talk right now?” she pleaded. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“I’m sure you do,” Georgia replied. “Teddy filled me in. Darling, I’m very disappointed you accepted all his hard-earned toothpaste commercial money from him. It was lovely for him to offer, but surely you knew there were far wiser ventures for him to invest in than your bakery? You haven’t made a buck to show for it.”
Ali twisted her lips. She could forgive Teddy for misrepresenting their arrangement. If their mom thought the money he’d given her was an “investment” but was still disappointed she’d accepted it, imagine how much worse she’d be if she realized Teddy had given her it as a gift.
“You do know it’s early days,” Ali said. “Some businesses don’t turn a profit for months.”
“I know that. Because like I told you before, Hannah explained to me at length about just how unlikely a bakery on the California coast was to thrive. So this can’t be a surprise to you.”
Ali rolled her eyes to the ceiling. For a brief second, she expected to see all the same grease splotches she’d come to know from working at Éclairs, and it took a moment to remember that that was all in her past. Because she’d changed her life. She’d taken her dream and run with it. Couldn’t her mom see just how much guts that had really taken? Didn’t she want her to be happy?
“I’m following my dream, Mom,” Ali said.
“And that’s very admirable,” Georgia replied. “But all dreams need a cut-off point, don’t they? The point where you accept that reality isn’t what you thought it would be.”
She could say that again. Ali’s dream to open a bakery had turned into a nightmare murder investigation. Speaking of, her mom hadn’t actually mentioned the dead body. Maybe Teddy had managed not to blab about it. Small mercies.
“I don’t think a week should be my cut-off point,” Ali said, sounding quite level-headed. “Imagine if Harrison Ford had quit acting when he didn’t get his first part. We’d have no Hans Solo.”
“Allison!” her mom snapped. “You need to start taking this seriously. You are a grown woman throwing what little money you have at a silly dream.”
Ali was taken aback. Trashing her dream was one thing. But calling it silly? That stung.
“I promise you I am taking this deadly seriously,” Ali told her. “I studied my ass off to get here.”
“Language. And if I recall, you studied to become a pâtissier, not a bakery store owner. Writing a cookbook was on the wish list, if I remember correctly, and creating a line of novelty shaped cupcake casings. But a bakery? That came out of nowhere.”
Ali’s pulse was starting to race. She knew her mom meant well and that she just wanted the best for her daughter, but Ali really wished she could express it in a kinder manner. It was no surprise that Hannah burnt out as frequently as she did if these were the kind of pep talks she got from their mom every time something went awry.
Ali took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions at bay. “Mom, I didn’t tell you about my bakery dream because I knew you wouldn’t approve. You have high aspirations for me, and I do as well. But mine look different from yours. I don’t think working for a fancy restaurant in Silverlake is better than being my own boss. It might sound better when you tell your friends over brunch, but this takes a lot of work, too.”
“Now you’re just making things up,” Georgia Sweet replied, sounding displeased. “You can’t reinvent the past, darling. I raised you. I was there. I’ve known all your hopes, fears, and dreams since you were in diapers. It went astronaut, zoologist, chef, in that order. Running a bakery has never been one of them.”
“Yes, it has,” Ali replied, more firmly. Her gaze traveled out the window and to the bright yellow Ferris wheel at the end of the pier. With a sad, wistful exhale, she added, “But I kept it between me and Dad.”
On the other end of the line, silence fell.
“Excuse me?” Georgia said at last.
Ali felt overwhelmed with emotion for her missing father. He didn’t speak to her the way her mom did. He was always encouraging and kind. He’d made everything fun. That was the reason she’d only told him, because she knew he wouldn’t trash her idea in the same way her mom was about to.
“Dad was the only person I told about my bakery idea,” Ali said again.
Her mom let out a scoffing noise of bluster. “I’m surprised you even got the chance, since he was always flitting in and out of your life. And more out than in, let’s be honest.”
Ali cringed. She really didn’t want this to descend into a critique of her father.
“It was when I was in high school,” she explained. “Dad asked me about my college plans and I told him about going to culinary school and working in Silverlake and he … well, he asked me whether they were my plans or yours.”
There was a protracted pause. Ali held her breath. She knew her mom wouldn’t take her admission well, and she braced herself for the fallout.
When Georgia Sweet spoke again her tone was cold and clipped. “And how did you answer his question?”
Ali’s heart raced. Her mom had put her in an uncomfortable position. An impossible one. It wasn’t her intention to make her mom feel bad or left out, but she’d been backed into a corner and the only other option, to lie, was no option at all.
“I said they were yours,” she replied, her voice small. “And Mom, please know I’m not saying any of this to hurt you. I just need you to understand I didn’t make this whole thing up on the spot. It’s always been there, lingering at the back of my mind. Even in the astronaut days. Don’t you remember getting me those rocket-shaped cookie cutters for Christmas?” She smiled at the memory, and hoped an injection of nostalgia would turn the conversation around.
“No, I don’t,” Georgia snapped. “I remember rocket-ship pajamas and astronaut Halloween costumes. Honestly, I think you’re just making this all up because you don’t want to admit I’m right.”
Ali’s shoulders slumped. She watched the Ferris wheel turning at the end of the pier, its lights flashing brightly.
“You know, Dad was very encouraging about it,” she said, mournfully.
“Of course he was,” her mom snapped in reply. “Your dad wasn’t practical. He was a daydreamer. He had the luxury of encouraging you kids to live in la-la land because he was never there to handle the messy bits of reality.” She sounded indignant. “Teddy’s obviously a lost cause, pursuing the acting route, but I thought I’d managed to steer you and Hannah in better directions. I thought I’d taught you about the practicalities of life and work and what it actually means to be a responsible adult. But clearly only Hannah was listening. I didn’t teach you well enough.”
Ali was half tempted to say that if Hannah was the success story among Georgia Sweet’s three children, perhaps her values were a little askew. But she didn’t get a chance, because her mom was on a tirade and there was no interrupting her.
“Do you know how much debt your father left me with?” she ranted. “How devastating it was for me to be left in the lurch by him, with three children and all his unpaid bills? It’s only now he’s been declared legally dead that I’m clear of it.”
Her words hit Ali like a tsunami. She felt like she was in one of the free-falling rides on the pier, plunging dozens of feet toward the ground. Even the window seat beneath her felt suddenly unstable. It was as if the world had been flipped upside down, and she had nothing to cling on to.
“Dad’s dead?” she asked, her voice as small as a child’s.
There was hesitation on the line. “Legally. Yes.”
“What’s the difference?” Ali pressed. “When you boil it down, legally dead means … dead. Gone. Never
coming back.”
Georgia spoke more gently. “It’s been over a decade without any sign of life. No sightings. No bank activity. In missing people cases like your father’s, the lack of evidence is evidence in itself. He’s gone.”
Her use of legalese only made Ali feel worse. This was her dad she was talking about, not a missing person case!
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ali asked, feeling wounded. “I would’ve liked to have known you were having him legally terminated.”
“Because it doesn’t change anything, darling,” Georgia replied, firmly. “Your dad isn’t any more missing now than he was yesterday or the day before or all the days and months and years before that.”
The Ferris wheel became blurry as tears welled in Ali’s eyes.
“But he is,” she countered. “He is more missing, because now no one’s looking for him.”
She heard her mom’s long sigh through the earpiece. “I’m sorry, darling, but they haven’t been for a long time.”
Tears began to plop from Ali’s eyes, streaking down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. She knew her dad’s disappearance hadn’t been deemed particularly suspicious by the cops—he had a habit of going off the grid, and a long history of falling in and out of touch with his loved ones—but the fact he was still an open case in some LA cop’s in-tray gave Ali that sliver of hope that he may one day be traced. But now she could picture his file with a big, red DECEASED stamped across the front in block letters, and locked away in a filing cabinet never to be seen again.
“That’s not the point,” Ali squeaked.
“I’m sorry,” Georgia said softly.
“For not telling me?” Ali demanded. “Or for declaring him dead in the first place?”
“I’m sorry for the way you found out,” Georgia Sweet said. “But I don’t regret doing it, darling. It was the right thing to do.”
Ali removed the phone from her ear and pressed her thumb onto the disconnect button. She and her mom clearly had very different definitions of the word right.
She stared down at the black screen of her cell phone. The call with her mom had left a very bitter taste in her mouth. Betrayed was perhaps too strong a word for it, but she was definitely hurt by her mom’s actions. Her dad had ceased being a husband to Georgia Sweet long before he’d given up on being a parent to his children, but she should have realized just how insensitive declaring him dead behind their backs really was.