Chapter 3
Toast the Pepitas
Recipe Tip: Grandma used pepitas, never nuts, because of her own allergy.
The first thing Tessa learned about finding a dead man was that nobody let you do it quietly.
By the time the police arrived, Millpond Road had become a parade of raincoats, umbrellas, whispered conversations, and curious faces pretending very hard not to be curious.
Tessa sat on the forge's front step with Pretzel pressed against her ankle.
The cat seemed perfectly content.
Tessa did not.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
She had called emergency services twelve minutes earlier.
It felt like twelve hours ago.
Now a uniformed officer stood near the forge entrance, keeping people back, while another spoke into a radio.
Tessa stared at the gravel.
She could still smell the bread.
Maple.
Orange.
No cardamom.
She rubbed her palms against her jeans.
"Ma'am?"
She looked up.
A man stood a few feet away.
Mid-thirties, perhaps early forties.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
A rain-darkened jacket over a plain shirt.
He had the tired expression of someone who had been awake for too many hours and expected the day to get worse.
"Detective Wes Halloran," he said.
Tessa swallowed.
"Tessa Bramwell."
"I know."
That wasn't comforting.
He crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to eye level.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Did you touch Mr. Thorne?"
"No."
"Did you move anything?"
"No."
A pause.
Tessa glanced at Pretzel.
"I hugged my cat."
Wes looked at the enormous gray animal.
"That's Pretzel?"
"Yes."
"He looks heavier than most suspects."
Pretzel yawned.
Tessa almost laughed.
Almost.
"I didn't kill Garrick."
Wes's expression didn't change.
"I didn't say you did."
"You were thinking it."
"I'm a detective. I'm thinking several things."
"That's worse."
One corner of his mouth moved.
Not quite a smile.
"Tell me what happened."
Tessa took a breath.
"I delivered a loaf of banana bread to Garrick this morning."
"What time?"
"Nine-thirty."
"Why?"
She hesitated.
"An apology."
"For?"
"Garrick and I had an argument last year."
"What kind?"
"The embarrassing kind."
Wes waited.
Tessa sighed.
"He publicly told me I wasn't worthy of one of his knives."
Wes raised an eyebrow.
"And you brought him banana bread?"
"Yes."
"That seems generous."
"I was trying to be mature."
"And how did that go?"
Tessa looked toward the forge.
"Not great."
Wes wrote something in his notebook.
"Did you speak to him this morning?"
"No."
"You didn't knock?"
"Desmond told me Garrick never answered the door. He said to leave it in the pass-through box."
Wes stopped writing.
"Desmond?"
"Desmond Hale. Festival chair. He owns the Copper Kettle."
"I know him."
"He suggested the bread."
Wes made another note.
"What happened after you left?"
"I went back to the bakery."
"With the cat?"
Tessa closed her eyes.
"No."
She looked down at Pretzel.
"Apparently."
Wes followed her gaze.
"Apparently?"
"He was asleep in my delivery tote."
"And you didn't notice?"
"I didn't know he'd climbed inside."
"Until?"
"Until I got back to the bakery."
Wes's pen stopped.
"Which time?"
"About nine-forty."
"And you came back here at one-fifteen?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Pretzel was missing."
Wes looked at the cat again.
Pretzel stared back.
"You came back for him."
"Yes."
"And found Mr. Thorne."
"Yes."
Wes closed his notebook.
"Thank you."
Tessa frowned.
"That's it?"
"For now."
He stood.
"Don't leave town."
Tessa stared at him.
"I live here."
"I know."
"Right."
He walked away.
Tessa watched him disappear into the forge.
She let out a breath.
Pretzel leaned against her leg.
"You're not helping."
The cat purred.
An hour later, the scene had changed.
The medical examiner's vehicle had arrived.
The curious neighbors had multiplied.
Dani had appeared twice.
The first time, she brought Tessa coffee.
The second time, she tried to get past the police tape.
She failed.
"Tell me everything," Dani whispered.
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both."
Dani looked toward the forge.
"Is he—"
Tessa nodded.
Dani's face softened.
"I'm sorry."
Tessa stared at the muddy ground.
"So am I."
It surprised her.
She'd disliked Garrick.
She'd been angry at him.
She'd complained about him.
But seeing him dead made all those feelings seem suddenly childish.
Nobody deserved to die alone in a forge.
Even Garrick.
Especially Garrick.
Dani squeezed her shoulder.
"Did they say how?"
"No."
"They haven't told you?"
"No."
"That's strange."
Tessa looked toward the police.
"Maybe they don't know."
But deep down, she suspected they did.
By late afternoon, Detective Halloran returned.
"Ms. Bramwell."
Tessa stood.
"Detective."
"Can I ask you a few more questions?"
"Sure."
He nodded toward the bakery.
They walked across the street.
Inside, the familiar warmth of Second Rise Bakery felt unreal after the cold forge.
Wes looked around.
"Nice place."
"Thank you."
"You bake everything yourself?"
"Most of it."
He pointed at the cooling racks.
"What are those?"
"Cinnamon rolls."
"Good?"
"Very."
He looked at her.
"That's not modest."
"I've been told I'm better at baking than diplomacy."
"By Garrick?"
Tessa stared.
"Who told you that?"
"No one."
Something about his answer made her uneasy.
Wes pulled out his notebook.
"Let's talk about the bread."
Tessa nodded.
"What was in it?"
"Brown butter. Black bananas. Flour. Eggs. Cardamom. Pepitas."
"No nuts?"
"No."
"Why?"
"My grandmother used pepitas instead."
"Why?"
Tessa hesitated.
"She had an allergy."
Wes made a note.
"To nuts?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever use walnuts in the recipe?"
"Never."
"Why?"
"My grandmother wouldn't allow nuts anywhere near her kitchen."
Tessa smiled faintly.
"She used to say a good recipe should be able to survive without showing off."
Wes looked up.
"Did Garrick have allergies?"
Tessa frowned.
"I don't know."
"None?"
"I said I don't know."
He studied her for a moment.
Tessa folded her arms.
"Why are you asking me?"
"Because Mr. Thorne is dead."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"No."
Wes closed his notebook.
"The medical examiner hasn't finalized anything."
"Was he poisoned?"
"I can't discuss that."
"Was it the bread?"
"I can't discuss that either."
Tessa's stomach tightened.
"But you asked me what was in it."
"I'm asking questions."
"You're not answering any."
"That's how investigations work."
She stared at him.
He stared back.
Then he said quietly, "Right now, you're a witness."
Tessa's shoulders loosened.
"But?"
Wes didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
After he left, Tessa tried to clean.
It was what she did when frightened.
She cleaned.
She measured.
She arranged.
She controlled whatever could be controlled.
She wiped the counter twice.
Then three times.
She reorganized the spice shelf.
Then she realized she had put the cinnamon beside the flour instead of the sugar.
She moved it back.
Pretzel watched from a chair.
"You could help."
He blinked.
"Of course not."
Tessa turned away.
There was a faint scratching sound.
She looked back.
Pretzel had jumped onto the workbench.
"Get down."
He ignored her.
His nose moved along the surface.
Then he hooked one paw behind a stack of old invoices.
Something fluttered onto the floor.
Pretzel grabbed it.
"Hey!"
He jumped down.
Tessa followed.
"Give me that."
Pretzel trotted beneath the counter.
"Seriously?"
She crouched.
He released the object.
Tessa picked it up.
It was a torn piece of paper.
Not hers.
A ledger corner.
Several handwritten numbers ran down one side.
Beside each number was a short notation.
Tessa frowned.
She recognized the handwriting.
Garrick's.
The numbers looked like serial numbers.
Knife numbers.
She turned the paper over.
Nothing.
"Where did you get this?"
Pretzel licked his paw.
"You're impossible."
She slipped the paper into her apron pocket.
Then froze.
Her hand remained against the fabric.
She had just taken potential evidence from the scene.
No.
Not from the scene.
Pretzel had brought it here.
Probably.
Maybe.
She didn't know.
Her heart began pounding.
What if it belonged to the police?
What if Garrick had dropped it?
What if touching it had destroyed fingerprints?
What if—
The front door opened.
Tessa jumped.
Wes stood there.
His eyes went immediately to her face.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes."
Too fast.
His gaze dropped to her apron pocket.
Tessa's heart hammered.
"Why?"
"You look nervous."
"I'm always nervous."
"Fair."
He stepped inside.
"I forgot something."
Tessa swallowed.
"What?"
"My pen."
She stared.
He smiled faintly.
"You've seen it?"
"No."
He glanced toward the counter.
There it was.
He picked it up.
Tessa forced herself to breathe.
Wes turned toward the door.
Then stopped.
"One more thing."
Tessa waited.
"Don't go back to the forge."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
He opened the door.
Then looked back.
"Ms. Bramwell?"
"Yes?"
"Who else knew you were delivering bread to Garrick this morning?"
The question settled over the bakery like a sudden drop in temperature.
Tessa thought of Dani.
She thought of the delivery tote.
She thought of Desmond standing behind the counter Monday morning, suggesting banana bread.
And she thought of the pass-through box.
Her fingers tightened around the torn ledger corner inside her pocket.
"I don't know," she said.
Wes held her gaze.
"Think carefully."
Then he left.
Tessa stood alone in the bakery.
Pretzel jumped onto the counter.
The torn ledger corner felt hot against her palm.
For the first time, Tessa wondered whether delivering that loaf had been an accident.
Or whether someone had wanted her to deliver it.
And somewhere beneath that thought was another, darker question.
If someone had known she was bringing Garrick banana bread—
who had been waiting for her to leave?