Chapter 5: The Lie That Burned
873 Words
Two police officers were already in the apartment, both of them with the grim patience of people who had seen far stranger things than menacing cupcakes.
“This yours?” one officer asked Ricco, holding the plate with latex-gloved hands.
“Yes,” Ricco said shortly.
Jamie raised a finger. “Technically, it’s mine. Well, the cupcake is mine. Well, I mean… not really mine, I wasn't the one who baked it, but…”
The officer stared at him, unable to retrieve any meaningful explanation. Wondering if they were talking to the right person. “Sir, do you know who left this?”
Jamie hesitated. “Um… no?”
It came out like a question, which was not the tone you wanted when denying knowledge of potential attempted murder-by-frosting.
****
They spent the next hour answering the usual questions. Ricco’s answers were clipped and precise. Jamie’s answers… were more like interpretive dance.
“Have you received any threats before today?” the officer asked him.
Jamie’s mind flashed through: HE KNOWS note, chocolate-wall graffiti, baked message of doom. He swallowed. “Define threat.”
Without lifting his head, the officer scribbled on his notepad and they took their leave. This isn't good. Not good at all!
****
Ricco remained speechless after the departure of the police, with head bowed against the wine cellar.
Jamie tried to break the silence. “So… fun night?”
Ricco’s head lifted. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Deflecting with jokes.”
“But...I”. Jamie tried to defend his actions but then stopped. It was of no use, Ricco wouldn't understand that that was the only way he could remain sane in the midst of the chaos.
Ricco studied Jamie for a while. “I’m most certain that there's a truth you are refusing to let out of the basket.”
Jamie swallowed hard. “I…”
That was when the door buzzer went off.
****
They weren’t expecting anyone. Ricco checked the camera feed.
A courier was outside with a small blue box.
Ricco frowned and went to answer. “Delivery for Jamie Rivera,” the courier said.
Jamie’s stomach dropped. “I didn’t order anything.”
The courier shrugged. “Says here it’s prepaid. Sign?”
In hesitation, Jamie signed and carried the box to the table. Hoping it wasn't a bomb. He opened it with utmost caution.
Inside was a single tart, perfectly glazed… with something that definitely wasn’t fruit jelly.
There was a card.
TELL MARCO IT’S OVER.
****
Ricco’s gaze sharpened instantly. “Who’s Marco?”
Jamie’s brain short-circuited. “Uh… Marco… is…”
Leo waited.
“…my… cousin?” Jamie offered weakly.
Ricco’s voice was like steel. “We’ve been over this. Your cousin isn’t answering calls, he’s not on social media, and no one in the industry has seen him in months. Who is he really?”
Jamie was at the peak of tension. His heart raced, beating so fast that a heart attack was not far fetched. One bad answer and he was done for.
“Look, it’s complicated,” he started.
“Then uncomplicate it,” Ricco said.
****
Jamie almost spilled the beans, about the lie, the delivery mix-up, the fact that he had no blood relation to Marco whatsoever.
But before he could, Ricco’s phone rang. He stepped away to answer.
Jamie tried his best to eavesdrop on the call. “Yes, I know… No, we haven’t confirmed… Keep it quiet until morning.”
“That was the event organizer from the Gala night. Trevor was seen speaking to one of the suppliers right before they disappeared from the gala.”
“Disappeared?” Jamie repeated.
“Vanished,” Ricco said. “Left without saying a word. And the supplier was the one who handled dessert shipments this week.”
Jamie’s stomach turned. “So Trevor might be, what? Sending me pastries of doom?”
Ricco didn’t smile. “If he is, I’ll find out. But you’re not leaving my sight until we figure this out.”
****
Which is how Jamie ended up sleeping on Ricco’s sofa that night, still in his tux pants, staring at the ceiling at 2 a.m.
He tried to tell himself that Ricco was just being protective. Not suspicious. Not silently plotting his murder.
Somewhere between imagining Trevor cackling over a poisoned tart and picturing Ricco handcuffing him to the kitchen island “for safety,” Jamie drifted into uneasy sleep.
****
At 5:42 a.m., the apartment phone rang.
Ricco answered, listened, then said sharply, “We’re on our way.”
Jamie sat up. “What happened?”
“They broke into the restaurant,” Ricco said, already pulling on his jacket.
Jamie blinked. “Again?!”
“Not the kitchen this time,” Ricco said grimly. “The office. And they left something for you.”
****
The Maison DeMarco office was a wreck when they arrived, with papers all over the place and desk drawers ripped out.
A small kitchen timer powered by batteries had been set up on the desk, counting down from 00:02:17. A photograph was attached to it.
Jamie recognized it instantly.
It was him, taken through Ricco’s apartment window… last night.
- Writer
