Cinnamon And Secrets (A Cupake Shop Mystery Book 1) Page 8

  “Ms. Holden?’ I hear the husky voice from behind me and I just caught myself in the most awkward situation. I’m turning around to get out of the coffeehouse—my back hunched to the minimum size possible to make myself as invisible as I can—when in a cringe-worthy way I turn around and meet his amused eyes. “What are you doing?”

  How can I put this awkward situation into words? “I was just…” my finger is lingering backwards over my shoulder, pointing at the door. “Heading—”

  “You thought you needed coffee, but then changed your mind, so you were heading back?” he explains it for me and makes it look so easy I accuse myself of making such a fuss about it.

  “Well, that’s about it,” I shrug.

  “I hear you’ve been dragging yourself into the investigation regarding what happened to Mr. Gleason. And I see that you’ve got some nice leads going. Ms. Holden, I understand your eagerness to find this murderer, but why don’t you let the police handle this on their own instead? I’m pretty sure we’re going to catch whoever did this, and they’re going to get what they deserve.”

  I don’t even feel like they’ve been able to build a case, at first. They started out putting questions to people, but nothing purposeful has been displayed by their end so far. And it’s no wonder I’d want to get involved. A killer is on the loose. That’s not so comforting an idea for me to cozy up on my couch’s comfort and do nothing.

  “What happened to Braiden?” I suddenly cannot stop my lust for knowing.

  “Well, the guy had nothing to do with his uncle’s murder. And he had proof.”

  “What kind of proof?” I raise an eyebrow. I don’t think I’d be able to dig this from Braiden, since we’re not on that kind of relationship anymore for me to go around and ask him.

  “Well, that’s confidential. I cannot share that with you.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” I reason. It was foolish of me to even ask. It’s not like the detective and I have such cozy relations.

  “So,” his eyes sparkle again in amusement. He was just earnest before, but now he’s back at his previous entertainment caused when he caught me in a cringe-worthy position. “Are you heading out now, or did you change your mind about grabbing that coffee after all?”

  “Um, I think I’m just going to go,” I say, finding myself pointing backward to the door again, and I swing back as soon as I can. After all, it’s not like I want to be near that man (or this situation) for a second longer.

  Feeling the crispy air outside, I let it indulge me, while I try to convince myself that back inside things didn’t go as awkward as I think. But I know that this attempt will prove me wrong, so I just run at home instead.

  After all, I can make a better coffee for myself than what that coffeehouse would have offered me, anyway. When I find myself on the porch, I look at Coral napping on the violet chair without a care in the word.

  Letting him enjoy his little nap, I open the door and head inside.

  I’ve decided the best way to let go of my confusion is by focusing myself on what I love doing the most in the world. Coming up with new cupcake recipes. It feels like I’m stuck somewhere in my mind, so that awesome, yet uncreated idea has not come up to me. It’s been a few hours that I’ve been repeating the same thing again and again. Mixing ingredients, putting them in the oven, tasting them and finally throwing them in the trash.

  This repetition has been driving me crazy.

  Lucky for me, Kierra has decided to make me some company today, and she’s enjoying her raspberry cupcake on the counter, looking pretty as she does, and updating me with the latest news around town.

  “Did you hear, Mr. Gleason’s nephew has hired some top notch lawyer to help him with his devious agenda? Basically he thinks he can inherit a pretty good deal of Mr. Gleason’s wealth, including one of the hotels in the city.”

  I’ve been busy with my baking, but the only few words that I managed to catch from her sparked my curiosity. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Kamron,” she proceeds. “He’s recently engaged to some pretty model and he wants to provide anything to her. It’s become like an obsession. Word around town is that he’s so addicted to her he complies with her every request. And she’s told him that this hotel deal in the big city is quite an opportunity that he cannot miss, and that he better not screw up this time, otherwise she might leave him for good.”

  “No way,” my mouth falls open even though I know that most of this is magnified and that the truth is probably half as bad as the fabricated gossip.

  “Yeah, it’s true. I saw him talk to some fancy suit-and-tie lawyer this morning after last period. He seemed so agitated.”

  I haven’t been able to talk to Kamron lately and I know that he probably don’t want to talk to me (you see he was good friends with my ex, whom I didn’t end things with on the best note possible) but I have to give it a shot. After all, Mrs. Hopper mentioned Kamron as a latent suspect.

  “Do you think he might’ve done it? You know, kill his uncle?” Kierra asks me.

  “Um, I don’t know what to think anymore,” I’ve made a mental note since after I confronted Braiden last night that I won’t jump to conclusions until I have solid facts and I know things for sure. “It’s just so terrifying to know that a killer might be among us and we don’t have the slightest clue as to who he is.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve been feeling really obsessed lately. When I’m alone at home, I check that the door is locked twice, I go down in the kitchen for a glass of water in the middle of the night. I think this case has gotten the whole city a little panic-struck. No wonder Mrs. Hopper doesn’t allow anyone in her house anymore.”

  “What’s that you said about Mrs. Hopper?”

  “I was there last night in front of her house with a homemade cake my mother sent me to give her, but before I did that I stopped by the coffeehouse first, and I accidentally spilled coffee on her clothes, and offered to help her. But she got really nervous and started acting strange like she didn’t want me to go in. I felt like she was suspecting I was a killer or something. So weird.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve been questioning everyone who steps on my doormat. My postman caught me staring suspiciously at him last morning. But it’s only normal to feel like this when there’s a murderer on the loose, don’t you think?”

  “I guess, you’re right,” she says and gets back at her cupcake.

  Meanwhile, I am getting on with the next attempt of mine to come up with the perfect cupcake recipe. I’ve never felt like this before. Trying over and over and not getting to the required outcome. I wonder whether this is about Braiden. It’s hurting that I won’t be able to be part of his life anymore, but I guess it is what it is. Everything would be better if I didn’t succumb to Heather’s idea to have sneaked up on the house that night. I wouldn’t’ve seen him with the sweatshirt. I guess sometimes being oblivious is the best thing that could happen to us.

  There are some things just so unnecessary for us to know that we’re better off not knowing them at all!

  Like, if I didn’t know that Braiden was the hooded guy then that perfect persona of his in my head would be just untangled and I would still be awe-struck by him. I mean, I still am. It’s just that I wouldn’t have done that stupid mistake, going there and accusing him of murder.

  Oh, God, I do need a hobby. For the last few months I didn’t feel this need, since Braiden was everything that I wanted to deal with. But now he’s off limits, and suddenly I find myself not knowing what to do in my free time. I mean, I’ll always have cooking, right? I can always run to the kitchen and put up with new creations.

  “Mrs. Hopper,” my expression is a mix of scowling and grinning. I’ve never seen her wearing clothes that look so strange, and if I’m being honest it looks kind of ridiculous. “How are you doing?” I ask her, hiding the devious smile on my face while looking at her walking methodically on weird clothes.

  “Heather,”
she howls excitably as though she’d been running a marathon or something. “I’m on my way to my aikido class.”

  “What? What is that?”

  “Oh, it’s basically a self-defense class. As a woman living alone in a city with a potential murderer running free, I think taking a martial art class is a must.” She says in a prideful way.

  “Oh, good for you,” it’s so strange that she’s so old and still I feel like sometimes she has way more enthusiasm than most people. I guess being energetic doesn’t have anything to do with age.

  “You should join sometimes,” she offers and looks at me over the fence. “I think it’s going to help you with your new thing.”

  “And what should that be?”

  “I’ve heard you’re making an investigation of your own regarding Mr. Gleason’s murder. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I really appreciate your effort. So far, the police have done nothing, it seems like.”

  Well, at least someone is not being too judgmental toward my need to find this murderer. I was so used to people telling me not to get involved, so Mrs. Hopper’s words get me so excited.

  “Well, have fun on your class,” I howl as she walks again.

  “Sure will,” she howls back from behind.

  I keep watering my plants, while Coral joins me, rubbing against my feet.

  “Maybe we should join an aikido class,” I tell him, teasingly.

  “Meow,” he says in disapproval, which would translate “I could care less about your class.”

  “You’ve no idea who I saw last night when Rylan took me out to this fancy restaurant,” Heather says, holding her mason jar in her hands, ready to take a sip. I raise my eyebrows in expectancy. “Braiden.” She spills the news.

  “Braiden?” I frown. Even his name gets me all tense.

  “He pretended I wasn’t even there the whole time. I mean I understand he must be holding a grudge, but dude just chill, what is one supposed to do when they see a person barging in to their own house? Because Mr. Gleason’s house is practically Braiden’s now.”

  “I mean, I don’t know about that, anyway. How did your date go?”

  “Oh, it was awesome,” she mumbles dreamily and looks somewhere up in the air. “But it would’ve been better if Macey wasn’t at the same restaurant.”

  “Macey was there?” I say as if the probability of such thing is almost inaccessible.

  “Yeah, she was on a date with Braiden,” she rolls her eyes at the memory, while I almost hinge. I’m infuriated. When did they start hooking up together?

  “I didn’t know they were dating,” I mumble instead.

  “Yeah, I didn’t either. It just seemed like they were hitting it off really well, though.” She mutters and then turns her gaze back at me as if something just hit her. “I’m sorry, I know how upsetting this might be to you. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you at all.”

  “Upsetting? Pfftt.” I make the weirdest sound. “I’m so over him.”

  “Are you though?” it’s annoying how she’s making a demanding point there in her crawling sweet voice.

  “Yeah, totally. I made it clear to him a few nights ago. Everything between us is over.” I lie. First of all, it was him who didn’t want to have anything to do with me. And secondly, it’s not like we had anything going for it to ever stop.

  “If you say so,” she lets her hands out of the table in a surrendering manner, while looking at her lemonade. “I so miss summer,” she switches the subject, which I’m so grateful about, and looks at me firmly. “I wonder when Chase is going to come back. I’ll have a brand new boyfriend to show off, and he’s going to be all desperate.”

  It is weird how she keeps mentioning him even now when I thought she had something sweet going with her new boyfriend. But I guess some things you just can’t escape from. Like obsessions and addictions. Like mine regarding Braiden.

  I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to recover from any post-Braiden trauma. But I guess that I have to, no matter what. After all, he seems to be moving on with his life just fine.

  I mean, not that fine. Macey is an unlikable person. She’s mean and not a good girlfriend to him but after all, I don’t think that any girl in the world would be good enough for him.

  He’s just so perfect.

  But not all that perfect, you know. He made me feel so sad…and that’s a crack. Well, the single one crack. But just one is enough.

  “What is wrong?” Heather notices my distraction.

  “I was just thinking,” I lie, “would things be different, if we didn’t host that party after all?” I mean, things about me and Braiden, but I’m letting this out.

  “I don’t know. Things are the way they are. They could’ve been different. But nobody says that different means better.”

  I look at her fondly. Sometimes she can be so smart. Sometimes. Most of the time she’s just annoying.

  I just let my mind calm down, while tasting my own lemonade.

  “Are you still losing track of time, coming up with recipes in your kitchen?” asks Heather, entertained.

  “Just a little five minutes of baking creativity,” I justify myself, while she raises an eyebrow at me in a way that says you’re-not-fooling-anyone. “Augh, I mean, just ninety minutes of baking creativity.”

  “And how is your little ninety-minute inspiration coming along?”

  “It’s not,” I say, looking disappointedly at the mess around me. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask, to get the attention off of me. Heather’s prolonged summer break has come to an end, but for some reason I don’t see her focusing herself on anything work-related.

  “My shift doesn’t start for another twenty minutes. Did you know that my ex is trying to writhe his way back into my life again?”

  “Chase?” I ask with bulging eyes.

  “He just texted me last night asking whether I wanted to grab coffee sometimes.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I said no, of course. Things with Rylan are going on so smoothly. And besides why would I ever need Chase into my life again after what he did to me? What are these?” she points confusedly at the tray on the counter.

  “Assorted new cupcakes. My prospect clients can choose how assorted they want their cupcakes to be.”

  “Oh, my God. You’ve been holing yourself up in the kitchen. It’s so sad. But, hey, Braiden in not the last cute guy in town,” she tries to stay optimistic.

  “This has nothing to do with Braiden,” I lie defensively.

  “Mm-hmm,” she shakes her head as if she doesn’t buy into this. “You got to do something, let’s go out tonight,” she offers and suddenly I feel like her charity work.

  “Oh, I’m opting between two different itineraries tonight.”

  “And what’s that? Cozying up in bed with Coral and/or focusing on your prolonged creativity?”

  “Hey, I’ve got a life,” I mutter in a crawling way that makes my statement look doubtful.

  “I see. You don’t need any help while you work things out with your addiction.”

  “I’m not addicted,” I say yet again, defensively, but at some point she’s making me question myself. Has everything that happened with Braiden impacted me so drastically to the point where I need to find myself a new obsession?

  To my luck, other customers come in, and I have to take care of them. I run to the front, while thinking about everything that Heather told me. Shaking off the disturbance, I decide it best to yet again crawl myself into everything-about-cupcakes.

  A pretty girl makes an appearance over the counter and she splashes a fancy smile at me. I’ve never seen her at my shop before. I recon she’s here on vacation. An outsider. God, she’s so perfect. You don’t just forget that face. So I decide she’s definitely an outsider.

  “Hi,” she waves at me, and smiles so sweetly. She looks like one of those sweet, well-mannered models that everyone gets obsessed with.
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br />   “Welcome to my shop,” I greet her while Heather brings herself form the kitchen into the front and finds herself stricken at the strange girl.

  “I was told this was the best cupcake shop in town, so I decided to stop by.”

  “Well you’ve got that right,” it is the best cupcake shop in town. A singleton. But that’s irrelevant.

  I realize that I’m getting this buzzing idea in my head that I can’t get rid of. It’s Heather’s words that are haunting me. Do I really need a hobby?

  “I know I promised to my fiancé never to speak about this, but…is this the place where the murder happened?” she leans forward over the counter, and lowers her voice as if she’s trusting me in on a classified secret.

  I roll my eyes, realizing that that’s what my shop is famous for. The homicide. “Well, this is the place,” I mumble disinterestedly. “Did you know him?”

  “Well, not personally. But my fiancé did. See, Mr. Gleason was his uncle. Kamron loved him so much.” She waves her head so as to say that’s-so-unfortunate.

  So, this is the girl that Kierra was talking about? The model. Well, now I see past that pretty smile and model-thin body.

  “What can I get you?” I ask her, suddenly needing to avoid any crime-scene-related topic.

  “Oh, the lowest caloric thing you got here,” she grins in an I’ve-got-a-figure-to-maintain way.

  I get to my cabinets, ruminating over what I should get this girl, while I realize that it didn’t take long for Heather to make friends with the model.

  “You flinched,” Heather accused her, lovingly.

  “I didn’t,” she upholds in a model way. And I try to realize what they are talking about. It’s really easy for Heather to spread her charm and win everybody around.