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Beachfront Bakery 02 - A Murderous Macaron

Page 16

by Fiona Grace


  “You know there’s no harm in calling him up and admitting you need his help. You were his protege after all. What’s the point of paying all that money for his tutelage if he’s not going to support you after? I mean, it’s an insult to his name to have one of his star students become a cupcake maker!”

  Ali couldn’t take it anymore. She’d tried to be patient. She’d tried to be rational and explain the situation to her mom, that success came in many different forms. But that message just wasn’t getting through. And Ali couldn’t take it anymore. Between Hannah and her mom and her closed bakery, she was really getting down. Right now, with everything going on with the investigation, she needed their support, not their constant cajoling.

  “Mom, stop!” Ali said, raising her voice to break through her mom’s tirade.

  Georgia fell silent immediately, and Ali could just picture the look on her face, the sucked-lemon expression she pulled whenever she felt disrespected.

  “This is my dream,” Ali continued. “I am succeeding. I am happy. I feel more at home here than I ever did in France. Or L.A. with Otis.”

  “Oh really?” her mom scoffed.

  Just then, the group of kids from the party had come over to the boardwalk, and were now clattering along noisily, happily chatting about their day. Ali realized they were all munching on candy as they walked, and a strange nostalgia overcame her. She’d eaten that candy before…

  “Willow Bay is where I was always meant to be,” she added.

  Suddenly, Ali remembered distinctly the moment she’d eaten the candy the kids in the birthday party were munching on. Her father had brought it for her from a vintage candy store. She squinted across the road, her heart leaping into her throat. It was the very same vintage store of her youth.

  “How does that even work?” her mom was ranting in her ear. “You don’t even know the place. Before you suddenly upped and left, I don’t think you’d never even visited it!”

  “Yes, I had!” Ali exclaimed, not even missing a beat. “I came here years ago. When I was little. Plenty of times in fact. You were there, but it obviously didn’t matter to you as much if you’ve forgotten. And you know what—my best memories are in this place.” She recalled vividly the feel of her father’s hand wrapped around hers. Of the feeling of safety and security she felt with him. At the way he’d made her feel like she could do anything she set her mind to. That the world was full of endless possibilities and experiences. “I don’t think I ever felt more happy or relaxed or carefree than I did when I was here with Dad as a kid.”

  Georgia Sweet huffed angrily. “This again? I don’t understand how you can idolize a man who abandoned you.”

  But Ali wasn’t listening to her mom anymore. Back then, her dad had made her feel like all her dreams would come true. Her dad had always told her she could be anything she wanted to be, unlike her mom, who told her she could be anything from a pre-approved list. He’d never speak to her the way her mom did, or dismiss her dreams and trample on her ambitions.

  Without saying another word, Ali removed the phone from her ear and hit the red button, cutting off Georgia’s disparaging tirade about her father mid-flow. She didn’t want to hear it.

  Quickly, Ali left the boardwalk and got onto the sidewalk of the parallel road behind it. She crossed the busy traffic and headed up to the candy store.

  At the sight of it, all the old feelings of nostalgia overcame her. It hadn’t changed a bit since she was a child. All the same vintage-style candies she’d loved back then were on sale now, displayed beautifully in colored jars in the windows.

  Feeling the first spark of joy she had in ages, Ali hurried inside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  The moment Ali set foot inside the candy store, she felt like she’d unlocked a part of her mind that had been repressed. Right away the smell of the place, the ambience, even the way the light came in through the window and sparkled across the glass display counter of vintage candies, was familiar and comforting to her. She felt a sudden surge of breathless wonder.

  “Are you all right, miss?” the man at the counter said.

  Ali swirled on the checkerboard tiled floor to face him. He was standing behind a dark wood and glass counter with gold edging, just like the sweet shops of the Victorian era. He was wearing a pink and white striped apron, and had tufts of gray hair sprouting from his head. Ali recognized him almost immediately.

  She was just about to tell him that she’d come here as a child, when his features fell.

  “Oh,” he said, looking a little surprised. “It’s you.”

  Ali faltered, taken off guard. She’d just been about to tell the man she recognized him, but instead the reverse was happening.

  She edged close to the counter. “Do you know me?”

  “You run the new bakery, don’t you?” he asked. “Seaside Sweets?”

  “That’s right,” Ali confirmed.

  “I heard what happened,” the old man said, shaking his head. “With the food critic man. So tragic. Such a shock. Are you okay?”

  “Thanks for your concern,” Ali told him. “But I’m going to be just fine. I’m going to clear my name. I’m investigating as we speak.”

  His white bushy eyebrows rose. “Are you really?” he said, with a tone Ali couldn’t quite place.

  She nodded. “I’ve spoken to all the food vendors on the boardwalk so far.”

  “No luck?” he asked curiously.

  Ali shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Well, I wish you the best with that,” he continued. “I heard he was making quite a menace of himself.”

  Ali nodded and tapped her hands on the counter. “You know, I came here when I was a child,” she said.

  Something about being in the store felt wonderful and uplifting, and Ali suddenly felt for the first time in a long time that she stood a chance of solving the case and getting her life back to normal.

  The old man chuckled kindly. “How wonderful. I get a lot of return customers.”

  “My dad brought me here,” Ali said, as if all came flooding back to her. “We were vacationing, me and my mom and siblings.”

  Suddenly, the man took a sharp, surprised intake of breath. “You’re not Richard Sweet’s daughter, are you?”

  The sound of Ali’s father’s name in her ear sent her immediately into a tailspin. “Yes.”

  The man started to shake his head as if in shock and surprise. “I don’t believe it. You look just like him. And that bakery of yours, Seaside Sweets? It’s a play on the name.” He chuckled. “How inventive.”

  “Um… thanks,” Ali said, still taken aback. “But how did you know my dad?”

  The clerk gestured to one of the tubs of candies in the display case, big yellow bonbons.

  “Because he just adored these,” the clerk said. “He’d come into town now and again. Sometimes with you in tow. I remember you now, that thick blonde hair. You wore it at the side back then, too, but in a bunch, rather than a braid.”

  Ali’s fingers went to the long, thick braid hanging over her shoulder instinctively. “That’s right,” she said, feeling all kinds of emotions.

  “Yeah, your dad always wanted to get a store here. The timing was never right, though. Either that or he just never found the time.”

  Ali blinked with astonishment. She had never known this about her father. He, too, had wanted to open a store in Willow Bay? They’d shared the same dream? All those trips he’d taken here with Ali in tow now suddenly took on a different meaning. Had he been planning his escape route?

  “I’ve not seen him for a few years,” the clerk continued. “How is he?”

  Ali felt her cheeks grow warm with emotion. “I don’t know. We’re not in contact anymore.”

  “Oh,” the clerk said, seeming to become immediately flustered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Ali shook her head. “It’s okay.”

  “Here,” the man said, as if suddenly needing to make amends. He grabbed o
ne of the big bronze scoopers and a paper bag, and filled it to the brim with the powdery yellow bonbons. “Take these. On the house.”

  “Honestly, you don’t need to—” Ali began, but the man was insistent.

  He shoved the paper bag at her, suddenly barely able to meet her eye. Though she understood why he might feel awkward for having put his foot in it, his behavior seemed a little peculiar to Ali. She wondered if perhaps he knew most about her dad than he was letting on. Especially if he’d not seen him in a couple of years as he’d claimed, since Ali herself had not seen her father since she was a teenager.

  Ali was tempted to ask more about her dad, but she decided to hold back. For now, she needed to untangle the mess that was Brandon Lennox’s murder. Finding out about her dad would be far too much of a distraction and something she knew that if she began she would never be able to stop. First things first.

  She took a bonbon from the paper bag and popped it in her mouth. The taste was just as she’d remembered, the perfect blend of lemon and sugar, and an almost creamy undercurrent. It was comforting.

  “Just like I remember,” Ali said, smiling at the clerk.

  He nodded stiffly and started busying himself. Ali got the distinct impression she’d somehow outstayed her welcome.

  “Thank you for these,” she said, backing up for the door. “I can see you’re busy. I’ll let you get back to your day.”

  The clerk did not meet her eye. It seemed as if a surprise visit from Richard Sweet’s daughter had caught him well and truly off guard…

  *

  The encounter with the candy store clerk replayed in Ali’s mind as she headed back to the boardwalk, sucking on the sugary lemony bonbon. Evening was starting to fall, turning the sky a golden color and the palm trees to silhouettes. Ali always found this time of day calming, and thanks to the combination of the nostalgic flavor of the lemon bonbons and the lead on her father, she was feeling more optimistic than she had in days.

  But just as she reached the boardwalk, a figure moved from the shadows.

  “Ali,” a male voice said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Ali jumped, dropping the bag of bonbons. They went skittering across the boardwalk like marbles.

  Ali felt her heart in her throat. She stared at the dark figure standing before her. “Who are you?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.

  The man stepped forward, out of the shadows of the palm tree and into the light.

  “Detective Callihan?” Ali exclaimed, her terror whooshing out of her in one go. “What are you doing here?”

  The preppy-looking detective gave Ali a disapproving look. “I know what you’re doing,” he said.

  “What I’m doing?” Ali asked. “What do you mean? I’m just eating bonbons.” She gestured to the yellow candies rolling across the boardwalk as evidence. “At least I was.”

  Detective Callihan folded his arms sternly. “You’re getting involved in the case.”

  “Oh,” Ali replied. “That.”

  “Yes, that,” the detective shot back forcefully. “Ali, you need to back off.”

  “And let you and Detective Elton spend two weeks waiting for the tox report to figure this thing out?” she returned, the frustration evident in her voice. “My business is closed. My reputation is on the line. I can’t just sit by idly.”

  “You can and you will,” Detective Callihan said. “You’re questioning all the vendors on the boardwalk. Stepping on our toes. Do you know how much harder you’re making our job for us? You’re giving people a chance to rehearse their stories!”

  Ali huffed. “I’m doing what I can. Two weeks is a long time to be without an income. Do you know how much money I’ll lose in two weeks?”

  “Then figure something else out!” Detective Callihan snapped, totally losing his patience. “Because if you keep on like this, you won’t be getting your bakery back at all, let alone in two weeks! You’ll be in jail, accused of murder.”

  He marched away.

  Ali watched him go.

  “Figure something else out?” she muttered under her breath.

  Detective Callihan clearly didn’t understand. If she waited the two weeks, she might not have a business to come back to. Plus, there were people depending on her, Seth, Piper. And if her business failed now, she’d rather go to jail than move back in with her mother…

  With her hands clenched into fists, she marched to her apartment and went inside.

  The kitchen was still dirty from her dough experiment that morning. The coffee table was strewn with invoices she’d not yet paid for ingredients that were currently being tested in a crime scene laboratory, and that she’d never get back. She’d still have to pay for them, though, even if she was going to see zero profit from them.

  She sank into the couch, letting her head drop into her hands. This was a disaster. It felt like all her worries were mounting up on top of her.

  Ali grabbed her laptop up from the coffee table and went online to change the bakery’s web page to say that the bakery was closed for the foreseeable future. It probably didn’t matter that much, but at least it made her feel like she was doing something.

  The website had been Hannah’s idea; Ali herself had no interest in social media. But after her sister had sent her approximately five bazillion articles about how much more money businesses with an online presence made, she’d given in and let her sister create one. Actually, if she recalled correctly, Jackson, Hannah’s husband, had been given that particular task.

  Al went to the Seaside Sweets business page. She was automatically logged into the profile, and immediately assaulted by a series of pop-ups and ads and bright red flashing alert buttons. She groaned. This was exactly why she hated these things. They made her blood pressure spike just by looking at them.

  She squinted, searching all over the page for the cog icon she needed to click on to update the details.

  “Where is that blasted thing?” she muttered aloud. The bright screen was already giving her a headache.

  Before she had a chance to locate the cog, she spotted something else: a comments section. She felt a pit of dread open in her stomach. She’d had no idea there was a comments section!

  She scrolled down, seeing that each comment was presented in a little thought bubble, leading up from the user’s profile, with enough room for a few words. The first read: Beware! Deadly Macarons!

  Immediately, Ali recognized the photograph in the icon.

  “Miriyam!” she cried. “That nasty woman!”

  She was so furious she was ready to throw the laptop across the room. But morbid curiosity got the better of her. She had to see what other people were saying about her.

  She scrolled down. Another Miriyam comment. Stay away! You have been warned.

  The third comment. Miriyam.

  Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.

  On and on, Ali scrolled down the comments and every single thought bubble was a scathing attack from Miriyam.

  “She really hates me,” Ali said aloud.

  Business wasn’t meant to be personal, but Miriyam sure as hell was making it that way.

  With an urge for revenge crackling through her, Ali clicked on Miriyam’s smug face and was taken to the webpage for Kookies, Miriyam’s rival bakery.

  Miriyam appeared to be extremely active online. Her page had different tabs for blog posts. The top one read: “beloved local reviewer murdered.”

  “Local?” Ali said. She was under the impression that Brandon was an out-of-towner. A Californian, sure, but not a local Willow Bay boy.

  What else didn’t she know about Brandon?

  She began mulling it over, realizing the answer was nothing. How did he even start his business? When they’d spoken briefly in the bakery without the cameras rolling, and Brandon had revealed his true self, he’d said he was a food critic first but had gotten sidetracked by prank videos because they got him more popularity. Was there any evidence of his past food critic career?

  S
he opened a new tab and typed Brandon’s name into the search bar. She quickly pulled up a very swanky black-and-white website. On the front page, in elegant floaty writing, it said Brandon Lennox—food connoisseur. His photo was in black-and-white too, with him looking over his shoulder with a personable smile.

  It was a far cry from the baseball-cap-wearing goofball he’d been when she’d met him. On the website, he clearly took himself super seriously.

  Ali explored his website, going to the blog section where she saw he’d written essays of reviews. Unlike her own webpage, Brandon’s had no comments section, and she quickly realized why. He did not have nice things to say about anyone!

  Then Ali gasped. His most recent review, posted the very morning he came to Willow Bay, was for La Vie En Rose.

  “Pretentious eatery off the beaten track of Willow Bay Boardwalk,” Ali read. “Save yourself the time and effort, this place is not worth the hype. If it doesn’t go bankrupt by the end of the quarter, I’ll eat my hat—which I suspect will be a damn sight tastier than the rubbery prawn linguine their rude manager recommended to me!”

  Ali couldn’t believe it. Her mouth dropped open. She’d not even thought about the stores off the boardwalk. But now, reading this scathing attack on La Vie En Rose, she saw it may well have been motivation for Brandon’s murder! The so-called “rude manager” must have been Jennifer Cliff.

  Was she his killer?

  Ali’s mind went into overdrive. All the pieces fit. Jennifer, insulted by Brandon’s attack on her restaurant, had found some way to take him out. To exact her revenge. But how could she have done it?

  “By setting me up!” Ali suddenly cried.

  That’s why Jennifer Cliff had been buttering her up in the restaurant. Why she’d been complimenting her macarons and offering to sell them. She knew damn well Ali would never get a chance to take her up on the offer because she’d framed her for Brandon’s murder! All she’d been doing all along was throwing Ali off the scent, and Ali had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

 

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