A Perilous Cake Pop

by Fiona Grace

  Fighting her instincts to run, Ail paced forward.

  Sudden movement to the side made her swirl. She turned and saw two terrified eyes peeping out at her from the small gap between the dumpsters. The waitress. She must’ve wedged herself in the tiny gap to hide from Mr. Mundy. Where the man was, Ali currently had no idea whatsoever.

  She reached her hand down to the trembling, terrified girl. “Quick. Let me help you up.”

  The girl reached her hand forward, then suddenly withdrew it, as her eyes went over Ali’s shoulder and widened.

  Ali spun on the spot. Her heart flew into her throat at the back-lit silhouetted figure now approaching her. The smell of beer flooded her nostrils. It was Mr. Mundy.

  Acting on instinct, Ali snatched up one of the garbage bags beside her and hurled it across the alleyway at Mr. Mundy. It smashed into him with a thud and split, spraying putrid and rotten food all over the place.

  In the moment of chaos, the waitress leapt out from behind a dumpster and went flying off down the alleyway. Ali hurried after her but made it only two paces when a sudden jarring pain shot up her leg.

  Stuck in place, Ali glanced down to see the heel of her shoe had gotten wedged between the paving slabs, and the pain was coming from her ankle, which was twisted into an awkward looking position.

  She kicked off the heels and took two more steps before her twisted ankle gave way beneath her. A sharp, agonizing jolt of electric pain shot up her leg, and she tumbled to the side, landing in a heap of stinking garbage bags.

  “Wait!” Ali cried at the waitresses back as she raced away.

  But the girl was clearly not stopping for anyone. She went scarpering down the alleyway as quick as a flash, leaving Ali floundering in the pile of stinking garbage.

  Suddenly, the shadowy figure of Mr. Mundy loomed over her. He inched slowly closer, a black silhouette backlit by the single street lamp. And as he towered over her, his face moved into the light. He peered down at her through mean, narrowed eyes. They were almost entirely black from how dilated his pupils had become. He appeared devoid of all emotion, almost like a different man than the one she’d been speaking to moments earlier. He looked instead like a wild animal who’d just cornered its prey.

  “Don’t hurt me!” Ali cried. “You said yourself that you didn’t want to kill anyone!”

  “You’re right,” Mr. Mundy said, his hands smoothing down his tie. “I don’t want to kill anyone.“ Then his fingers found the knot, and he began to work it loose. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

  Ali shrank back, feeling completely vulnerable. Where was the waitress? Was she already dead? Or was she hiding? Could she still save her?

  “Help!” Ali cried into the blackness. “Please! Someone help me!”

  Suddenly, Ali heard a sound coming from the other side of the alleyway, a very familiar, very reassuring sound. It was the bark of Scruff the dog.

  There was no time for Ali to work out how Scruff had gotten there—considering when she’d last seen him, he was fast asleep on her couch—because he immediately raced for Mr. Mundy and grabbed his pant legs in his jaws.

  “Get lost you filthy pest!” the restaurateur cried.

  With a determined little growl, Scruff began to tug, as if playing a game of tug-of-war with Mr. Mundy’s pants. The heroic little stray, had his jaws clamped fast onto Mr. Mundy’s pant leg, and he was clearly not letting go. And the restaurateur's attempts to swat him away failed. He was too lumbering and ungainly, and the wiley little stray could easily jump out of his reach.

  Then, in one sudden movement, Scruff tugged Mr. Munday’s pants down around his ankles. The floundering man tripped over his own feet and fell headfirst into the pile of trash bags, his bright red boxer shorts on full display.

  “POLICE!” came the sudden, welcome husky voice of Detective Elton.

  With a huge sigh of relief, Ali glanced over to see the two detectives coming round the corner. It was over.

  Exhaling all her tension, Ali sank back into the pile of garbage like it was a pile of silk cushions and she were a Maharani. A banana peel fell on her head.

  As Detective Elton manhandled Mr. Mundy to a face down position, Detective Callihan approached where Ali was sitting in a crumpled heap in the pile of black bin bags and offered his hand. She peered up, and stopped rubbing her painful ankle, taking his hand instead. He pulled her up to her feet, with a strength Ali had never expected from a man of his size, just an inch taller than her in her heels.

  As he’d heaved her up, she ended up uncomfortably close to him. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him. To feel his breath on her face.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” Ali replied, breathlessly.

  With a look of concern, Detective Callihan dropped her hands and reached toward her. Ali gulped with surprise. But when he moved his hand back, she saw he was actually holding a banana peel, the one that had fallen on her head.

  Ali took an instant step back. “It’s just these stupid heels,” she blurted, immediately switching into her awkward blabber-mouth mode. “Seriously, I don’t know how people do it.”

  “Well, most people who wear heels aren’t usually chasing murderers down alleyways,” Detective Callihan replied with a smile, as he tossed the banana peel into the trash.

  Ali returned the gesture. “Good point.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Mundy, currently being cuffed and read his rights by Detective Elton. “Mr. Mundy, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Arlo Hudson.”

  She turned back to Detective Callihan. “When did you work out it was him?” she asked curiously.

  “We weren’t getting anywhere in our interrogation of Sullivan Raine,” Detective Callihan explained. “We were looking back through our prior suspects in case there were any clues we’d missed. Mr. Mundy was on our radar because The Cove was the other place Arlo reviewed, but it wasn’t until looking back over it I realized there was a link between the restaurant and the CEO of the Herald. We came here to speak to Mr. Mundy again, only to bump into a terrified waitress who told us she’d overheard Mr. Mundy confess.”

  Ali let out a sigh of relief to know the waitress was okay.

  “And Sullivan?” she asked. She hated to think of an innocent man sitting in jail.

  “He’ll be released,” Detective Callihan replied. “He’s innocent. But you knew that already.”

  There was a look in his eye Ali couldn’t quite place. It looked almost like pride? She studied it, wondering why Detective Callihan always seemed to be the polar opposite of Detective Elton when it came to her sleuthing and meddling. While they both regularly told her to butt out, Detective Elton did so because she was an irritant. But Detective Callihan did so for her own protection. He’d warned her she had an enemy. He’d told her the details of the case--confidential details, no less. And the whole time Detective Elton had been keeping a suspicious, watchful eye on Ali, Detective Callihan had been keeping a watchful eye on her.

  The words that Detective Elton had said back when she’d been eavesdropping on their conversation from the garden of Marco’s pizzeria suddenly came back to Ali. She’d said Detective Callihan would be “soft” on her during their questioning. A thought began to crystallize in Ali’s mind. The awkwardness. The blushing. The tip offs. The warnings. The over-sharing of his personal life. Detective Sebastian Callihan liked her…

  Suddenly, Mr. Mundy staggered on his feet and slammed into Detective Callihan’s back. The detective staggered forward, smashing into Ali, as Detective Elton and the perp grappled behind them in the crowded alleyway.

  Squished up against the wall and the detective she’d just realized had a crush on her, Ali felt her heart begin to pound. His hair, which he usually combed back into a strange preppy 1940s high-schooler style had been mussed up, and stuck messily over his forehead. The change in style was far more attractive to Ali, and she noted with a jolt of discomfort the first spark of attract
ion there.

  Oh goodness, she thought as it began to dawn on her. The feeling is mutual!

  “Come on, you!” Detective Elton shouted, roughly pulling Mr. Mundy by his shoulders and shoving him along the alleyway.

  Ali felt the pressure of the weight of Detective Callihan ease off. He moved back and peered at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

  Ali nodded, breathless. “I’m okay…” she whispered. “Just surprised.” And in more ways than one.

  “Callihan!” came Detective Elton’s husky bark from the other side of the alleyway. “Get a move on! And bring Miss Sweet with you! We need a statement from her.”

  Detective Callihan flashed Ali a knowing look. “How about we leave the questioning until tomorrow?” he said. “Let you have a good night’s rest first before we start the whole statement gathering?”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Ali replied.

  Nothing seemed less appealing to her right now than sitting in the cold Willow Bay police station recounting all the drama of the evening. And nothing seemed more appealing to her now than snuggling up in her bed, and getting out of these stupid, uncomfortable clothes!

  They headed together toward the straggly growth of bushes, Ali hobbling on her bad ankle, and Detective Callihan keeping her upright with his arm about her waist. Ali tried not to think too much about the physical contact between them. Her love life had gotten extremely complicated, and the last thing she needed now was to add any more complications into the mix.

  Just then, Ali heard a bark. She looked down to see Scruff trotting alongside her. He seemed fussier than usual, wending his way through her ankles and making whiny noises, and Ali realized she’d not thanked him yet for his bravery.

  Ali halted and untangled herself from Sebastian, then crouched down.

  “I know, Lil’ Dude,” she told the expectant looking pup. “You’re the true hero of the night.”

  Scruff barked joyfully, then he leapt against her chest, putting his paws either side of her neck like an embrace and began bestowing kisses on her neck and face.

  Ali cradled him in her arms and stood. Detective Callihan looked at her somewhat bemused, but Ali simply shrugged.

  “It’s true. He’s the hero here. He saved the day,” she explained.

  Just how he’d known where she was and that she was in trouble was not a question Ali could answer just yet. Perhaps that was a mystery she’d attempted to tackle tomorrow, after a long, deep, much needed sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Through half-asleep, foggy thoughts, Ali stirred in her bed. Early morning dawn light seeped through a gap in her bedroom curtains, and a million aches and pains made themselves known throughout her body. The memories of the night before came flooding back to her — of the show-down with Mr. Mundy, of Scruff’s brave actions, and of Sebastian Callihan and the strange romantically charged energy that had passed between them.

  Sudden movement in the bed beside Ali made her fly up to a seated position with shock. Then she realized the movement was Scruff. The stray had come home with her that night. He must have found his way into her bed in the night.

  She reached over and petted him. “Good morning, Mr. Scruff,” she said. “Crazy night, huh?”

  The fluffy little stray opened his eyes and flashed her the sweetest, most earnest expression of gratitude. It warmed Ali’s heart to have him here and she hoped this was the beginning of something. Perhaps he had chosen her to adopt him?

  Ali glanced across to her dresser beside the bed. Her digital alarm clock displayed the time in block red numbers: 04:59. Despite her exhaustion, she’d still managed to instinctively wake up before her alarm. It was a clear sign her mind was ready to move on from the horrible events of the last few days and get right back into routine. And that meant getting to the store and baking, baking, baking!

  The numbers on the clock flicked to 5:00AM and the alarm began to blare. As Ali smacked it off with her palm, her gaze fell to her cell phone lying on the dresser beside it. Suddenly, she remembered Delaney. In all the drama of the night before, she hadn’t sent a follow up message to her friend to let her know that all was well! As far as Delaney was concerned, the last she’d heard from Ali was a telephone call in the bathroom telling her to look out for a 9-1-1 message! She must be going spare!

  Ali grabbed her cell, and quickly opened up the messaging app she shared with Delaney. Her friend had sent several messages the night before, all of which she’d missed in the chaos. She quickly read them now.

  Are you okay? the first read.

  The second: I’m assuming yes.

  The third: Unless you’re tied up and not able to reach your phone right now?

  The fourth: Which is ludicrous.

  The fifth: Or is it?

  And the final message of the night: Okay, I’ve gone to your apartment and let Scruff out so he can keep an eye on you.

  “Oh poor Delaney!” Ali cried, pressing a hand on her chest over her heart. “She must’ve been so stressed!”

  Scruff barked, and Ali petted his head. “Yes, I know. Auntie Delaney saved the day, didn’t she? She let you out so you could find me!” She chuckled as the final mystery came together in her mind. Thanks to Delaney’s actions, Scruff had been able to save her.

  She quickly texted her friend back.

  Morning. Sorry for the radio silence. You saved the day. You and Scruff. I’ll tell you all about it later.

  And with a smile, Ali got out of bed, ready to face a new day.

  *

  Ali headed to the store, with Scruff on her heels. When she reached it, she was surprised to see someone standing outside. A man. It was very early for customers—she usually had a few hours of uninterrupted baking out back in the kitchen before the sleepy breakfast crowds stumbled in in search of coffee and fresh croissants.

  “Can I help you?” Ali asked as she approached the man, the store keys she’d fished from her pocket, jangling in her hand.

  The man turned to face her and Ali gasped. It was none other than Timothy Clarke.

  What was he doing here? she thought anxiously. Her mind went straight back to her ruse as Allison the journalist. Embarrassed, she tried to hide her features behind her braid, but failed quite miserably.

  “It’s Ali, isn’t it?” Timothy Clarke said. “Don’t worry, I worked out who you really are.”

  Ali drew to a halt and cleared her throat awkwardly. “Are you here to tell me how mad you are?” she asked.

  “Mad?” Timothy replied, ponderously. “Why would I be mad? Because you suspected me of murder, or because you entered my home on the false pretense of being a journalist writing an article about me?”

  “Both,” Ali replied, her cheeks burning hotter and hotter.

  But to Ali’s surprise, Timothy smiled. It was the same, dimple cheeked, cherubic smile in his Herald profile photo.

  “I guess a little,” he replied, running a hand through his gray, curly hair. “It’s never nice to be deceived. But I also understand you had good intentions. You were the one who solved Arlo’s murder, weren’t you?”

  News sure did get around the bay quickly, Ali thought.

  She nodded, self-consciously. “I guess.”

  “Then all’s well that ends well,” Timothy declared.

  Ali faltered. Either Timothy really was as affable as his reputation, or he was holding something back.

  “Why are you here?” Ali asked. “At my bakery? At 5AM?”

  “Oh right!” he said. “I haven’t explained yet, have I?” He chuckled and tapped his head to indicate he was scatterbrained. “As you well know, I’ve got my job back at the Herald. Well, they decided to give me a slightly new assignment than before. Since I’m known around town for being such a sweet guy, my boss wants me to write a new column specifically for desserts. I’ll do the sweets, and another writer will do a column for the mains.”

  “That’s… good?” Ali replied, still not sure why he’d felt the need to come here at the crack of
dawn and tell her all about it.

  “I’d like to review your bakery,” Timothy announced. “I figured what better place to start than here.”

  Ali’s eyebrows flew up with astonishment. “Here? After everything I put you through? But why?”

  “It’s the best place in town, according to everyone I speak to,” Timothy explained. “Besides, we have a funny history for me to write about, too.”

  Ali didn’t know what to say. She was so touched and thrilled that everyone was beginning to recognize her bakery as a standout eatery on the boardwalk. “That’s very generous of you. I don’t think I could be quite so forgiving.”

  “I must live up to my reputation,” Timothy joked. He held a hand out to her. “So, what do you say? Are you up for a new review? One to replace the terrible review Arlo wrote? Of course, I can’t unpublish the version that made it to the Herald, but I can replace the one online with all the unpleasant comments about the fight you two had.”

  Though she was still embarrassed, Ali decided to put their past behind them. Timothy had clearly forgiven her, so there was nothing to be gained by beating herself up about it. And having that terrible review wiped from existence was too good an opportunity to turn away! She took his hand and shook it.

  “Yes,” she replied with a decisive nod. “Come on in. I’ll make you a coffee on the house. I think it’s the least I can do.”

  She unlocked the door and pushed it open. Timothy followed her into the bakery, sniffing the aroma as he went.

  “Smells amazing,” he commented.

  Scruff trotted in after them, jumping up into the window seat—Delaney’s favorite spot—and promptly falling asleep.

  “So,” Timothy said, eyeing the colorful display of desserts in the glass display cabinet. “What’s all the fuss about then? Macaroons. Cupcakes. I’ve been hearing a lot of buzz about this place.”