Chapter One
Mindy
The smell of burning pastry fills my nose, waking me from a dead but restless sleep. I’d been up most of the night baking for my grand opening tomorrow, and must’ve fallen asleep while waiting for one of the pies to bake.
Smoke billows out of the oven, creating a heatwave that fills my small kitchen with black plumes of putrid smelling apple-touched smoke. For some reason, the stupid smoke alarms aren’t working. I’ll have to contact my landlord about that as soon as possible.
“Oh, fudgesticks,” I grumble, doing my best to pull out the burning pie without catching my kitchen on fire. At least it’s only one pastry instead of the whole lineup that I have planned for opening day.
I purchased a small building with a loft apartment attached a few months back, using every dime I’d saved since a teenager from my various online baking ventures. Taking my online business to a storefront has always been a dream of mine, and now I’m living that dream one delicious pastry at a time.
The poor pie’s tragic ending is just one of the many follies I've had over the past few weeks. When I first got here, part of the ceiling came down during demolition, putting my opening day back two weeks. There was also the time that my brand-new stove shorted out electrically, almost causing the whole building to burn down. I should’ve taken them all as an omen, but the man who owns my building gave me a screaming deal, and it’s the only opportunity I have to take my passion and turn it into a profit. Or so I hoped. My rent is only seven hundred a month, but I found out rather quickly just how hands on my landlord likes to be. Mr. Moseley has invited himself over for quite a few impromptu inspections over the past few days, reviewing all my renovation attempts on the building, almost like he’s trying to prolong it.
He seems like a nice guy, but the more I get to know him, the more I get the eerie feeling that there is just something off about him. He always enters with his nose high in the air, his thin mustache styled into menacing points on the sides of his lips, almost like his lips are laced with ice picks. His hair is that oily slick you think of when you see a used car salesman, and it matches his rich, tailored suits and pressed slacks perfectly.
Sliding the burnt pie onto the stove, my heart stops beating erratically, just to be jolted back into panic mode when my front door suddenly swings open and in rush four men in suits, and a very peeved Mr. Moseley.
“Everything okay in here?” he questions, eyeing the pie that went from a sexy caramelized brown to a charcoaled mess that’s still slightly on fire. “I heard the fire alarm go off.”
Funny, I didn’t hear anything go off. Odd.
“Yeah, I accidentally burnt a pie. I’m so sorry, Mr. Moseley. I dozed off while waiting for it to finish. It won’t happen again.”
A toothpick sticks out the side of his mouth, and he fidgets with it, sucking on his teeth in the process. “That’s unfortunate,Ms. St. John. I do love a good apple pie.” He tries to smile. I think it’s in an attempt to woo me, but his wooing is more repulsive than anything else. The man’s gut sticks out at least five inches over his belt buckle, and he’s practically my father’s age.
“I’ll make sure to make you one later today. This is such a small town. I’m sure it will take a while for customers to find me. I couldn’t afford to advertise after all the renovation mishaps that I’ve had this past month.”
He smirks. “You’d be surprised, Ms. St. John. Word of mouth travels faster than you think. I’ll be sure to have some of my boys come over and buy a few pastries tomorrow after you open.”
“I would love that, and I’m always open to suggestions. So, if there is a specific pastry or dessert you’d like me to make, let me know. Desserts are like challenging works of art for me.”
A low chuckle vibrates his belly, and he takes a step back, motioning for his men to head out. “I think Ms. St. John has it all handled, boys, so why don’t we leave the little lady alone for now?”
His men nod, grunting like angry beasts in unison before filing out, leaving me and Mr. Moseley alone. He takes an awkward step towards me, then holds out his hand, motioning for me to take it.
Reluctantly, I do, and he bends down to kiss the back of it, his lips as slimy and greasy as his hair. “Until we meet again, Ms. St. John. As always, it’s been a pleasure.”
“Oh, Mr. Moseley, before you go. I noticed that I didn’t hear the smoke alarm go off, but somehow you did. Is there any way to get a working smoke alarm in the building? I want to be up to code, but if I can’t hear the alarms going off myself, I’m afraid something like this will happen again.”
His smile slowly fades. “Sure…”
“Am I not supposed to ask that?” He seems annoyed, maybe even angry.
“No-no, it’s fine. I’ll have new fire alarms installed by morning. Before you open, of course.”
“Great! That would be amazing. I’m sorry about the pie, Mr. Moseley. I promise it won’t happen again.”
The man’s nose is a hawk-like beak, and when he turns to the side, it is grotesquely long and off-putting. He gives me another unnerving smile before he speaks one last time. “See that it doesn’t, Ms. St. John. I’d hate for your little business to fail before it ever gets a chance to get off the ground.”
What does he mean by that?
He slowly backs away, refusing to turn until he’s out the door and on the sidewalk outside. The second he disappears, I’m running to the front door, locking it behind him.
Did I forget to lock it? Does he have a key that I’m not aware of?
Either way, the thought of Mr. Moseley and his group of cronies coming into my shop whenever they please, has me on edge. Maybe this quiet town in the middle of Nevada isn’t as quiet as it seems?
Chapter Two
