Beachfront Bakery: A Killer Cupcake by Fiona Grace

Author:Fiona Grace [Grace, Fiona]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fiona Grace
Published: 2020-11-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ali went up the hill to the canary yellow door of her landlord, Kerrigan O’Neal, and knocked. There was still a couple of hours before the usual mid-morning lull would turn to lunchtime, so Ali didn’t feel much of a pressing need to get back to her store any time soon.

The door clicked open and Ali’s stout landlord stood before her. He was wearing muddy boots and gardening gloves, and had the same blustery aura of their first meeting, like he’d just been interrupted in the middle of a very pressing task.

“Allison?” Kerrigan said, sliding the gloves off and holding them in his hands. “Is everything okay with the store? The apartment?”

“They’re both fine,” Ali said. “I just wanted to ask you something. Is now a bad time?”

“No, no, I’m just doing some gardening,” Kerrigan replied, waving the gloves as proof. “What did you want to ask?”

“It’s about Preston Lockley,” Ali said, watching carefully for any change in Kerrigan’s demeanor.

Kerrigan tutted and shook his head. “Preston. Shocking. Terrible. It’s hard to believe something so awful can happen in a town like this.”

“I heard he wanted to rent my store before me,” Ali said. “And that you turned him down?”

Kerrigan looked uncomfortable, his gaze darting over Ali’s shoulders to scan the street behind her.

“Maybe we should talk inside?” he said.

Ali faltered. She’d expected this to be a quick chat, with Kerrigan explaining his reasons for turning Preston’s offer down. But something about his mannerisms made her uncomfortable. A tingly sensation spread through her.

“I guess we can talk while you garden, if you want,” Ali said.

Kerrigan looked surprised, as if multi-tasking was a novel idea Ali had just invented. Maybe that was one of the reasons he always seemed so blustering.

“That’s a good idea,” he said, opening the door wider to allow her inside.

Apprehensively, Ali stepped in.

Kerrigan’s house was bigger than she’d expected looking at it from the front, but three-story townhouses always seemed to be optical illusions. She followed him along a corridor with high ceilings, and into a large, bright kitchen, with enormous windows that looked out onto a steeply banked garden, stretching for yards up to a dividing fence and the back of the next big rainbow house on the hill. It gave Ali a peculiar combination of claustrophobia and vertigo.

“Wow, you don’t get much privacy on the hill, do you?” Ali commented, peering up to the next house where she could easily see in through the French doors at the back to their kitchen. She was, of course, just as easily visible to them.

Kerrigan chuckled. “You wouldn’t be able to hide a body in the garden, that’s for sure.”

Ali didn’t quite know what to make of that. Off-color jokes didn’t seem particularly advisable considering the circumstances. And her hackles were already up.

“Sorry, that’s what we say in Ireland,” he added.

Ali reminded herself to Google that later.

Kerrigan gestured to a wooden bench, and Ali sat. Then he hitched up his trousers, crouched, and began weeding a flower bed full of wildflowers that were luring in numerous bee and butterfly visitors.

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