Chapter 13
Turn It Out
Recipe Tip: Run a knife around the edge.
By Saturday afternoon, Tessa had stopped pretending she wasn't tired.
Her feet hurt.
Her shoulders hurt.
Her head hurt.
And every time she closed her eyes, she saw a different piece of the puzzle.
Garrick's forge.
The half-eaten loaf.
The missing injector.
The blue cap.
The ledger.
Bertie's copied knives.
Renata's forged certificates.
Six auction lots.
Someone was selling knives Garrick had never made.
And Garrick had known.
The question was whether that knowledge had gotten him killed.
Tessa drove back to the forge.
She hadn't planned to.
At least, that's what she told herself.
But the car seemed to know where she was going.
Pretzel sat in the passenger seat.
He watched the road.
"Don't look at me like that."
Pretzel blinked.
"I know."
He blinked again.
"You're right."
She sighed.
"I hate that you're always right."
Pretzel rested his chin on the window ledge.
The forge appeared ahead.
The smokehouse chimney was cold.
The building looked smaller than it had before.
Tessa parked.
She and Pretzel walked to the door.
Lorna opened it before Tessa knocked.
"I wondered when you'd come back."
Tessa stopped.
"You did?"
Lorna nodded.
"You have questions."
"I have a lot."
"Come in."
The forge was warmer today.
Not because the furnace was lit.
Because the afternoon sun came through the high windows.
Dust floated in the beams.
Tessa stood near the workbench.
Lorna closed the door.
"Where were you Wednesday?"
Tessa asked.
Lorna looked unsurprised.
"In Burlington."
"All day?"
"Most of it."
"Doing what?"
"Meeting my lawyer."
"About the estate?"
"Yes."
"Can he confirm it?"
Lorna smiled faintly.
"She can."
"She?"
"My lawyer."
"Will she speak to the police?"
"She already has."
Tessa paused.
"So you have an alibi."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you didn't ask."
Tessa nodded.
"Fair."
Lorna walked toward the workbench.
"I understand why you're suspicious."
"I'm not trying to be."
"You should be."
Tessa looked at her.
"Of you?"
"Of everyone."
Lorna opened a drawer.
"Especially people who seem helpful."
Tessa thought of Desmond.
Her stomach tightened.
"What did you mean?"
Lorna didn't answer.
She pulled out a small leather case.
She placed it on the bench.
Tessa recognized it.
"What's that?"
"Garrick's."
She opened it.
Inside were medical supplies.
Two blue-and-black auto-injectors.
Tessa stared.
"Two?"
Lorna nodded.
"He carried two."
"But I thought there was one."
"There were always two."
"Where?"
"One in his apron."
"And the other?"
"In his truck."
Tessa's heart raced.
"So if someone took the one from his apron..."
"The second should have been in the truck."
"Was it?"
Lorna shook her head.
"No."
Tessa stared.
"Both were missing?"
"Yes."
The room seemed to tilt.
"Then whoever killed him knew about both."
"Maybe."
"Or they searched for them."
"Yes."
Tessa looked at the leather case.
"Why would someone take both?"
"To make sure Garrick couldn't save himself."
The words were quiet.
Simple.
Horrible.
Tessa swallowed.
She touched the blue cap in her pocket.
"Was Garrick careful?"
"Very."
"Did he ever forget them?"
"Never."
Lorna closed the case.
"That was the thing about Garrick."
"What?"
"He could forget birthdays."
"That sounds right."
"He could forget apologies."
"Definitely."
"But never his injector."
Tessa looked down.
Something hurt inside her chest.
Lorna opened another drawer.
"I found this yesterday."
She pulled out a long leather roll.
Dark brown.
Old.
Worn at the edges.
A set of initials had been written across the front.
T.B.
Tessa froze.
"What does that mean?"
Lorna looked at her.
"You."
Tessa didn't move.
"Me?"
Lorna nodded.
"Garrick wrote those."
Tessa reached for the roll.
Her fingers trembled.
She untied the leather strap.
Inside was an empty slot.
Long.
Narrow.
Perfectly shaped for a chef's knife.
Tessa stared.
"He was going to give me one."
Lorna nodded.
"Yes."
"When?"
"At the festival."
Tessa's throat tightened.
"The festival?"
"He planned to give it to you Sunday."
Tessa laughed once.
It came out broken.
"Why?"
Lorna smiled sadly.
"Because he thought you'd earned it."
Tessa looked down at the empty slot.
All the memories came rushing back.
The festival.
Garrick's cold expression.
His insult.
The laughter.
Her shame.
The years she'd spent thinking she wasn't good enough.
And all the while—
Garrick had been buying her bread.
Watching her work.
Following her progress.
And secretly making her a knife.
Her eyes burned.
"He could have just told me."
Lorna nodded.
"He wasn't good at that."
Tessa laughed again.
This time a tear escaped.
"That's an understatement."
She ran her thumb over the initials.
T.B.
Her initials.
Garrick's handwriting.
Something about that broke whatever she had been holding together.
Tears came suddenly.
Hard.
Hot.
Embarrassing.
Tessa turned away.
"I hated him."
Lorna said nothing.
"I thought he hated me."
Her voice cracked.
"I thought I wasn't good enough."
Lorna stepped closer.
"He admired you."
"Why?"
"Because you kept going."
Tessa covered her face.
"I don't understand."
"Garrick understood failure."
She looked up.
Lorna's expression was gentle.
"He just didn't like talking about it."
Tessa wiped her cheeks.
"Did he know about Boston?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"He read the article."
Tessa closed her eyes.
Of course he had.
"Did he think I was a failure?"
"No."
Lorna shook her head.
"He thought you were stubborn."
Tessa laughed through her tears.
"Everyone thinks that."
"He said stubborn people survive."
Tessa looked at the empty knife roll.
"He was going to give me a knife."
"Yes."
"Then he died before he could."
Lorna nodded.
Silence filled the forge.
Pretzel had been unusually quiet.
Then Tessa felt something brush her leg.
She looked down.
Pretzel stared up at her.
"You've been listening."
The cat walked forward.
Then, with surprising gentleness for an animal who routinely stole silverware, he climbed into her lap.
Tessa sat on the old wooden bench.
Pretzel curled against her stomach.
His enormous head rested beneath her chin.
She stroked his fur.
"I'm sorry."
She wasn't sure whether she was speaking to Garrick, herself, or Pretzel.
Maybe all three.
Lorna watched her.
"You should take the roll."
Tessa looked up.
"I can't."
"Why?"
"It belongs here."
"No."
Lorna closed the drawer.
"It belongs to you."
Tessa looked down at the leather.
Her initials were still visible.
T.B.
She picked it up.
The leather was warm from Lorna's hands.
"I'll keep it."
"Good."
Tessa took a shaky breath.
Then something occurred to her.
"Did Garrick tell you who the third person was?"
Lorna's face changed.
"The third person who knew about the allergy?"
"Yes."
Lorna shook her head.
"No."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Then how did they know?"
Lorna looked toward the empty forge.
"I don't know."
Tessa thought about the bread.
The swapped ingredients.
The missing injectors.
The forged knives.
The auction.
The person who knew enough to kill Garrick without leaving a wound.
She hugged Pretzel tighter.
"What if they knew him better than we think?"
Lorna looked at her.
"Then you're asking the right question."
Tessa looked down at the leather roll again.
Garrick had planned to give her a knife.
A Thorne knife.
One he had made for her.
The man she thought had rejected her had actually been preparing a gift.
And now she would never hear him say why.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Pretzel lifted his head.
Then he pressed his face against her hand.
Tessa smiled through the tears.
"Okay."
She stroked his fur.
"I'll figure it out."
Pretzel purred.
Outside, the festival crowd cheered somewhere in the distance.
Music floated faintly through the trees.
Life continued.
But inside the quiet forge, Tessa held the knife roll against her chest.
And for the first time, the case wasn't about proving she hadn't killed Garrick.
It was about making sure the person who had taken him never got to erase what he had left behind.