Chapter 10
Bake
Recipe Tip: Trust the timer, then trust your nose.
By Saturday morning, Tessa had decided she was done investigating.
Not because she had solved anything.
Because she was exhausted.
She stood in the bakery at seven-thirty, staring through the front window as two police cruisers rolled slowly past.
One continued down Main Street.
The other stopped.
Tessa's stomach tightened.
A moment later, Detective Wes Halloran entered.
He didn't look at her.
He looked tired.
More tired than usual.
"Tessa."
"Wes."
He removed his jacket.
"Can we talk?"
She nodded.
Something was wrong.
She knew it before he said a word.
"About Bertie?"
Wes looked at her.
"Yes."
Her fingers tightened around the dish towel in her hand.
"What happened?"
"He admitted he was at the forge Wednesday night."
Tessa's heart sank.
"He told me that."
"He didn't tell us everything."
"What didn't he tell you?"
"He stayed longer than he originally claimed."
"How long?"
"Until nearly nine."
Tessa stared.
"That's after Theo saw Garrick."
"Yes."
"But Garrick was already dead by then."
Wes nodded.
"Medical examiner puts the time of death earlier."
Tessa's mind raced.
"So Bertie didn't kill him."
Wes was quiet.
"Tessa."
"What?"
"We found evidence connecting Bertie to the forge."
"What evidence?"
"I can't discuss it."
She exhaled sharply.
"You always say that."
"Because I can't."
"What did he do?"
"He lied about being there."
"People lie."
"Not usually when someone is dead."
Tessa folded her arms.
"Bertie hated Garrick."
"Yes."
"But he loved him."
"People can do both."
She hated that he was right.
Wes looked toward the bakery.
"The case is closing."
Tessa blinked.
"What?"
"We have enough to charge Bertie."
"Charge him with murder?"
"Yes."
"But—"
"We have motive."
"His designs."
"Yes."
"Opportunity."
"Yes."
"And evidence."
"Yes."
Tessa stared at him.
"But it doesn't make sense."
Wes's expression softened.
"I know you want it to."
"No."
She shook her head.
"I mean it doesn't."
He waited.
"The bread."
"What about it?"
"It wasn't my recipe."
Wes looked at her.
"I told you that."
"I know."
"And the smell was wrong."
"Tessa—"
"Maple. Orange. No cardamom."
"Stress can affect perception."
She stared at him.
"You don't believe me."
"I believe you noticed something."
"That's not the same thing."
"No."
Wes sighed.
"Sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one."
Tessa looked toward the ovens.
"Is it?"
He didn't answer.
The silence stretched.
Then Wes said quietly, "Let this go."
Tessa looked at him.
"You're asking me to trust you."
"Yes."
She wanted to argue.
She wanted to tell him about Renata.
The hotel receipt.
Lorna.
The three people.
The ledger.
The forged knives.
Theo.
The blue object.
Instead, she heard herself say:
"Okay."
Wes nodded.
"Thank you."
He put his jacket back on.
At the door, he stopped.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"That this happened to you."
Tessa swallowed.
"Me too."
He left.
The bell above the door chimed.
Silence returned.
Tessa stood behind the counter.
She knew she should feel relieved.
The police had their suspect.
Wes believed they had their killer.
The investigation was ending.
Everything could go back to normal.
So why did her stomach feel worse?
She turned toward the kitchen.
Pretzel sat beneath the prep table.
Watching her.
"You agree with me."
Pretzel blinked.
"Of course you do."
She picked up a tray.
"You're terrible at keeping secrets."
Pretzel yawned.
Tessa smiled faintly.
Then she turned toward the office.
The bakery office was barely large enough for a desk, a filing cabinet, and a chair.
Tessa sat down.
She opened her laptop.
She told herself she was going to work.
Festival inventory.
Supplier orders.
Rent.
Anything except Garrick.
Anything except murder.
She opened the spreadsheet.
Typed one line.
Deleted it.
Typed another.
Deleted that too.
She leaned back.
The room was too quiet.
Then—
Clunk.
Tessa looked down.
Pretzel stood beside the desk.
His paw had knocked something from underneath it.
A small piece of paper slid across the floor.
Tessa frowned.
She bent down.
The torn ledger corner.
She had forgotten she'd pushed it beneath the desk.
She picked it up.
"Right."
Pretzel stared at her.
"You stole this."
He blinked.
"And then I hid it."
Pretzel sat.
Tessa placed the ledger corner on the desk.
Then another object rolled out from beneath the filing cabinet.
Blue.
Plastic.
Tessa stopped.
She reached down.
Picked it up.
The little blue cap.
The one Pretzel had stolen from the coatroom.
She turned it over.
Nothing.
No writing.
No label.
Just a small blue plastic cap with a strange molded ridge around the inside.
Tessa frowned.
"Where have I seen you before?"
Pretzel looked toward the cap.
Then toward the ledger.
Then back at her.
Tessa stared at him.
"You know something."
Pretzel blinked.
She picked up the cap again.
Her memory shifted.
The forge.
Garrick's apron.
Lorna's words.
He carried the pen everywhere.
His injector.
Tessa's heart stopped.
She stood so quickly the chair rolled backward.
"An injector."
She grabbed her phone.
Her fingers flew over the screen.
She searched for images.
Auto-injector.
Epinephrine pen.
Safety cap.
Her eyes widened.
The shape on the screen matched the blue cap in her hand.
Exactly.
Tessa looked down.
The little piece of plastic suddenly seemed enormous.
The injector.
The thing Lorna said Garrick carried everywhere.
The thing that could have saved him.
The thing that was missing.
She whispered:
"Someone took it."
Pretzel's ears lifted.
Tessa looked at the ledger.
Then at the cap.
Then at the bakery door.
Wes had said the case was closing.
Bertie had been at the forge.
Bertie had lied.
Bertie had a motive.
But Bertie hadn't taken the injector.
Tessa knew that now.
Because if he had—
why was the cap here?
Why had Pretzel stolen it?
And why had someone removed the injector before Garrick died?
Tessa's breath caught.
The case wasn't closing.
It was opening.
She grabbed her coat.
Then stopped.
Wes had told her to let it go.
For once, she had listened to someone louder than herself.
She looked down at the cap.
Her grandmother's voice came back to her.
Trust the timer.
Tessa closed her fingers around the little blue plastic piece.
Then whispered:
"But trust your nose, too."
Pretzel jumped onto the desk.
Tessa looked at him.
"Bertie didn't take the injector."
The cat's tail flicked.
"And if Bertie didn't..."
Tessa looked toward the door.
Her pulse began to race.
"...someone else did."